


Prophecy and Pride

by baruffio



Series: Prophecy and Pride [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Demon Ryan Bergara, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baruffio/pseuds/baruffio
Summary: Ryan's just a young demon trying to live his best life in LA. Of course, Shane has to make everything more complicated.





	1. The Beginning of the End

“It just seems that if you truly believed in spirits,” Shane says so carefully that Ryan wants to scream, “you would be more polite. You’re definitely getting more bold.”

Ryan blinks, scoffs, and stares deadpan at the camera. “You wish. Boogara for life, no danger of this guy becoming a Shaniac.” He indicates himself with both thumbs.

The gall of Shane flouncing around supernaturally infested buildings and accusing  _ Ryan _ of being a doubter regularly puts Ryan in a murderous mood. 

“You wouldn't talk to a stranger like that,” Shane insists with that quietly curious politeness. Ryan wants to simultaneously facepalm and punch Shane in the face. The serious expression means that this nuisance of a man is looking for an actual answer.

“Actually,” Ryan says, and he can hear his voice enough to know that he needs to dial the fuck back. “Actually it proves my belief. If I'm having a conversation with somebody and they aren't responding to me, I'm getting louder. I'm getting in their face.”

Shane says nothing, but his expression speaks for itself, so Ryan carries on in a voice slowly increasing in pitch and volume. “And that's a very normal reaction. If they're being rude, I've got to be rude too.”

“You've said that it requires a lot of energy for ghosts to--"

“Exactly. And what fills you with energy? Anger.”

Shane shrugs amicably and scrolls down the Instagram feed, and when Ryan's fat mouth opens to keep ranting, Shane hems and haws his way back in. “Aaaaaand we’re back to ‘Gram town.”

Ryan hates Shane. Not in the casual, friendly way either. The problem is that Shane is terribly, innately good and insistently sees good in everything. 

Take Ryan, for example. His sin is pride. It results in late nights at work, snappishly defending his show to the haters, and generally being a fiend in the preshow hours. But according to Shane and his internet followers, Ryan is not an obsessive control freak; he's “dedicated” and “hard-working.”

Shane has one redeeming factor. Okay, maybe two. 

BuzzFeed Unsolved has blown up with Shane as his partner. The popularity has been an ongoing stroke of the ego and, more importantly, a source of safety. Ryan’s bosses can only do so much to internet celebrities. Of course he's getting more bold on set; he’s untouchable now.

Secondly, Ryan’s bosses absolutely abhor Shane, and that makes his sweet goofy self tolerable. 

“Earth to Ryan,” Shane says in a voice like playdough, and then he starts singing. “Can you hear me, Major Tom?”

“Shut up,” Ryan says articulately.

“Let's do a mid shot of Shane asking the next question. That's when the Boog glazed,” TJ says. 

Shane wiggles his fingers sorcerously at Ryan, so Ryan smacks him. 

The rest of the questions are pretty mild. Ryan snickers when he reads another theory about Shane being a demon. Usually Shane gives a little response--he knows that those comments never fail to make him laugh--but he is now radiating excited, nervous energy as they search for the last question of the session. 

Ryan stares deadpan into the camera as Shane beams into the camera and starts regaling TJ with the latest episode of the Hotdaga. At the start of the season, Shane had somberly approached Ryan and formally asked for permission to continue the Hotdaga. Ryan, surprised, had given consent. So what if Ryan just liked being asked for permission. It wasn't a frequent occurrence in his line of work.

Listening to Shane ramble on in his cartoonish voices lulls Ryan into a listless daze. When Shane stops talking, he looks up soullessly. Shane guffaws as they do their usual sign-off banter, and then he leans over to elbow Ryan. 

“Hey, bud. What's up?”

Ryan knows exactly what's up. He's been feeling it coming on all week: today a vision comes true. There are a few unfilled visions that he has yet to see come to fruition, so he's not sure which one is coming. When he reaches the moment he saw, he will be all but immobile. Of course, he can't tell Shane A. Madej. Shane would never believe him anyways. Freaking skeptic.

Ryan shrugs, and Shane frowns slightly. Oh, great. He has activated hen mode.

“Well, I can vouch that you are sick and taking a much needed break, and you can go home and sleep. I bet you didn't sleep this weekend.”

“When would I have slept?” Ryan grouches. He had to get the specs in on the next season of BuzzFeed Unsolved: Supernatural in this morning, and Ryan likes to confirm and reconfirm his plans. Shane offers to help every time BuzzFeed demands a list of dates and locations, but Ryan doesn't share well. It is part and parcel of the pride thing.

“So it's a plan,” Shane says, and he shoos Ryan. “Now get outta here!”

Ryan sleepwalks to his desk, grabs his keys, and makes his way to the elevator. After waiting for a few moments, Kelsey comes in and presses the down button.

“Thanks,” Ryan says. He likes Kelsey. She's an enabler. 

He is just walking out of the office when he sees Helen crossing the street.

He instantly knows what the memory is.

A motorcycle swerves around a car and knocks Helen down, and she turns to make eye contact, face torn by road burn as everything flashes brilliant white. 

The vision lasts for a fraction of a second, and Ryan comes to while stumbling on the sidewalk. Helen is out of sight and Ryan's bones still feel cold and hollow from his vision.

He can't very well walk away. Ryan takes a few shaky steps toward Helen, who is surrounded by shrieking onlookers and vehicles squealing to a stop.

He knows in the pit of his stomach that Helen does not survive because Helen's accident isn't a random, unfortunate event. It's a threat. And while Ryan is safe due to his fame, the life he has is prone to disruption. He will have to have a reaction.

Ryan’s legs give out, and he makes no effort to rise again. After a while of staring numbly at Helen's body (she’s still breathing, but not for much longer), he grows increasingly aware of Quinta draped over his shoulder, crying softly and rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

He drifts a bit, torn among exhaustion and frustration and distress, and then there's a firm hand under his elbow pulling him to his feet.

“Ry,” Shane says, and Ryan starts leaking tears. It isn't a planned reaction and that throws Ryan for a bit of a loop.

Shane holds him tight against his side and the heat is overwhelming. Ryan pulls away, and Shane's hand latches onto his arm. 

“Hey,” Shane says, and Ryan shoves Shane away. 

He's not sure how he gets home. His body moves on autopilot and he slowly comes back to find himself collapsed on his bed, fingers raw and swollen, guitar perched in his lap.

His phone has twenty-three missed calls (“Jordan!” his brain cheers). Ryan turns his phone over. 

It's time to re-evaluate his act.


	2. G.O.A.T. on Guitar (For a Tune)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **record scratch**  
So you're probably wondering how I ended up here.  
\---------------------------------------------  
Yeah, it's that time: backstory o'clock.

Ryan lost his soul at the tender age of 16. He didn't believe in ghosts and demons and hadn't believed that he was giving away his soul until it was too late.

He had been a total dickwad about it. “Awww, so you're a demon. Let me make my wish really specific, then. Listen up, buddy. I want the ability to play El Choclo, on guitar, better than it has ever been played before.”

The audition for the fine arts school had been hanging over his head and he had been beyond stressed about it. 

When he next practiced, Ryan played his audition piece better than he could imagine. Everything fell under his hand as seamlessly as if he had played the piece his whole life. 

His audition had gone phenomenally. He made it into the school. The catch was, the skills he was exhibiting in El Choclo were not showing in his other pieces. And every time Ryan played the fateful first chord of El Choclo, his hands seared to the guitar until he played out the whole song.

Ryan started believing in demons and transitioned out of the music program.

A couple of weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Ryan received his first summons into the Underworld.

“Welcome to my digs,” Gremory smirked. He was drawing heavily on a cigarette and gesturing at the wildly garish decor. 

“How does this work?” Ryan asked. “Am I dead?”

“Spiritually speaking, yes.” Gremory plopped down on a fluffy, silk-embroidered golden and purple loveseat. “Your physical manifestation remains absolutely fine. You'll live a normal life, only you won't experience fulfillment or attachment. Those require a soul.”

Ryan had assumed his lack of emotions was depression about his lost music career. Soullessness never entered his mind. “And what does that make me?”

“One of mine. Your fulfillment comes from me.” 

“When you say fulfillment--”

“For a creature tainted by corrupted divinity, that just translates to power. The stronger I am, the stronger you are.”

“I don't want that,” Ryan claimed, and he felt a little thrill in his own defiance. Gremory beamed down at him.

“That'll be your pride talking." Gremory wiggled the toes of his boots delightedly. "I wondered which would be yours."

"My what?"

"Capital vice. Cardinal sin. Your new operating system. All the damned run on one of the seven." He took another puff of his cigarette and reconsidered Ryan. "You should have manifested a divine gift by now too."

"Divine gift?" Ryan repeated. "What are you on about?"

"The usual. Miracles, speaking in tongues, healing, discerning spiritual manifestations, visions, faith."

"Why would a damned being get a divine gift?"

"Damnation is an act of divinity. Fallen divinity, but..." Gremory shrugged. "You're welcome. So, have you noticed any new abilities?"

"No. Why am I here?"

"Because I called you," Gremory said. His tone hadn't shifted from the flamboyant air, but there was an unmistakable menace coiling through the words. His next words rebounded to his airy undertone. "And it's time for us to develop your 5-year-plan."

"This  _ is _ hell," Ryan groaned. 


	3. Put on Your War Paints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the story timeline, Ryan is working overtime to make sure he keeps his cover.

Ryan is gathering Helen's things into a pile when he hears the slide of a key into the lock. He has a split second to wonder if Gremory zombified his dead girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) when Shane's head pokes through the door.

"Bad timing," Ryan says as he folds a thong. 

"Yeah, I bet," Shane says. "You didn't answer the door." His eyes flick away and back to Ryan as he blindly shuts the door behind him. "I didn't know if you were okay."

"I'm not," Ryan says firmly. "Which is why I need to be alone." 

"Of course you're not okay." Shane facepalms and peers out at Ryan from behind his fingers. "I'm here for you, you know?"

"I don't want you here," Ryan insists. 

"Someone should be available, who should I call?"

"I don't want anyone here." Ryan's voice snaps out louder than he anticipated. Shane is really rubbing him wrong with his implication that Ryan needs somebody, and Ryan has no compunctions about letting him know. "I don't need anyone."

"Okay," Shane says. "I'm not saying you need someone. I'm saying you shouldn't have to be alone." 

Ryan really hates Shane for the way his simmering rage immediately quells. There's still no reason to let him stay. "I don't want to have to act in front of people." Shane goes still and Ryan hurries to continue, worried that Shane has the wrong idea. "Grieving is personal, and I don't want an audience."

"Do you feel like you have to act around me?" Shane asks in a tiny voice. 

"Yeah, dude," Ryan says, bequeathing a beautifully tragic smile to Shane. "We're on camera together like every other day."

Shane shudders like he's shaking off Ryan's joke. "I'm going to head out, but I want you to know that it's because I respect what you want and, as soon as you're comfortable being around me, I want to be here. Text me, call me, smoke signals, whatever." He reaches out and pushes at Ryan's shoulder. "When you're ready." Shane gives Ryan an unreadable look and bustles back out the door.

Ryan really did find himself a great costar-slash-friend person. Carefully locking the door behind Shane, Ryan looks back at the miniature Helen shrine for inspiration on his persona remodeling.

He would need to be more withdrawn. They had gone to Disney a bunch, so he would need to play that morose. He'd need to make an Instagram tribute. That should get him a lot of followers. Fewer laughs for sure, and whenever he does laugh, follow through with a gutted demeanor, like he’s betraying her memory. 

Shit, he can't go in to work tomorrow. The production timeline is going to be all haywire. Even if he were to go in, he can't act productive. Can he? Ryan plays with the strap on one of Helen's sandals. People do sometimes stick to routines following trauma, but quality script writing isn't exactly a routine activity. 

Maybe Gremory is trying to mess up the filming schedule. Maybe he's jealous of Ryan's success and wants to curtail him, even at the risk of limiting his own power.

As soon as Ryan thinks the thought, he knows that it's not true. Gremory is too lazy for that level of mindplay. It's kind of flattering to think though, so he entertains the idea a little longer.

The biggest shift, Ryan knows, will have to be on camera. And by biggest, he means hardest. He'll have to act like he's hiding grief without overplaying his hand. His loss has to color his actions without being something that he constantly refers to.

In order to prepare, Ryan goes to youtube and rewatches old episodes. He pauses during the riffs and calculates what he would change in the microexpressions. He spends hours practicing with a few of the best banter sections, but he knows it's still not enough. He needs to practice before he gets on camera, before his face, body language, and tone can be permanently catalogued. 

_ Hey Shane  _

_ Sorry didn't realize how late it got _

_ You up? _

It takes fewer than thirty seconds for the answer to appear.

_ Definitely _

_ I'm all ears _

_ Were you sleeping? _

_ On and off _

Ryan waits for a follow up text, but Shane leaves it open-ended. 

_ You can come over if you like _

_ Be there in a few _

Ryan shoves Helen's things into a box that he jams into the hall closet, clears his browser history, and waits.

It sure is assuring to know that it takes more than murking his girlfriend to throw him off his game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, everybody!


	4. Hell's Got Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan tries his acting on Shane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
Hi, readers! I hope you're enjoying the story so far.
> 
> A quick reminder that this is RPF and in no way reflects on the actual people in the story. I saw a lot of Demon!Shane fics and jokes and thought of the premise "What if Ryan's scared of ghosts and demons because he's a low-level supernatural being himself?" The story percolated over the course of about two years.
> 
> I really love BU because they cover dark matter with such a dorky sense of humor. I'm trying to write in the same sense. There's going to be darker themes, but I'll tag chapters in chapter headings if you want to avoid.

Even though he fully expects it, Ryan startles when there's a knock on the door. He pokes his eyes for the classic red-rimmed cry look before going to greet Shane.

And Shane looks rough. His eyes already have a melancholic slant, but they are caverns where they're usually flint. It's a good look, but Ryan has zero idea about how to emulate it.

"Thanks for having me over," Shane says. Ryan nods and runs a hand over his face to shield his eyes so he can readjust his expression. He can't compete with Shane's look; he'll have to play it numb.

"Sorry about earlier."

"You've got nothing to apologize for."

"I don't like how I acted."

"Fair enough," Shane concedes. He trails Ryan to the couch and plops on the far side. "Do you want to talk?"

"No," Ryan says. He's playing this like a freakin' champ. He lets delicious seconds drip by in which Shane gives him a soft kick and leaves his ankle resting against Ryan's foot.

"I know bro code is all about being cool and standoffish," Shane says in a low voice. "But I do contact. Let me know if it's not floating your boat."

Ryan snickers. "You old man." He holds a slight smile for a brief moment before he pulls the corners of his mouth down hard, getting a couple of seconds of lip quivering, and looks up and away. He deserves a goddamn Oscar for the way his eyes are welling up with tears. 

Shane rolls his ankle on Ryan's foot so their ankles are interlocked. 

"Shane?"

"Hmmm?" 

"I'm not ready to be around people."

Shane unhooks his ankle and sits upright on the couch. "Time for me to go?" There’s absolutely zero judgement in his voice. He’s been in Ryan’s apartment for maybe a minute, and he sounds not-at-all bothered at the idea of driving back to his place.

"No, not you," Ryan hurries to clarify. "Work."

"You don't have to go to work. No one would think less of you."

"But I don't want to," Ryan sniffles, "to be here."

"Oh Ryan," Shane says, and he wraps his giant noodle of a body around Ryan. It feels pretty nice, and Ryan tucks his chin in case he reveals an unchecked emotion. Gremory is always saying he's too sentimental. It's definitely not the time to look smug or triumphant.

Shane strokes the nape of his neck and tells him about his parents' struggle with their new television and thinking he has the answers, about the real weather in Schaumberg versus the variances in LA weather, about changing military formations in ancient Greece, about German puns… 

Ryan does not intend to fall asleep, but with Shane's voice droning relentlessly past his left ear and the steady rub of a thumb along the bottom of his hairline, his body grows heavier, sinking into the couch, and his mind drifts into oblivion.

Of course, there's no rest for the wicked.

Gremory looks up from the other side.

"Surprise, darling!"

"Whatever," Ryan huffs. He stands in a parade rest next to Gremory's desk. "What do you want now?"

"Nothing," Gremory replies. His open smile is indiscernible from a snarl. "Just doing a little check-in on the soul counts."

"Well, the one I was closest to had an accident today," Ryan says. He almost completely suppresses the accusation threatening to bleed through his voice. "So that hasn't changed."

"Bringing you to a sum total of zero." Gremory looks at him with fire in his eyes. They both know that Ryan had absolutely no intention of making a move on Helen's soul. "How unfortunate." He paces the length of the room in long, galloping strides. "You've had ample time to make a meaningful contribution. You've built yourself a phenomenal platform."

Ryan breathes through his nose and curses at the pride that sharpens his ears and dulls his mind. "Say what you mean."

"I would hate to have to make an example."

"Please," Ryan snorts. "You know the fanbase would investigate. I've been leaving them clues everywhere, it wouldn't be hard for them to uncover the underworld. And how many fresh souls would you get then?"

Gremory's expression edges into an outright snarl. "It would be fresh pickings!"

"It would be the revitalization of the churches, and daddy dearest would be so disappointed that the steady decline was reversed by a third-tier demon. So I guess it would be fresh pickings, hmm? Take your chances, buddy."

"You're getting arrogant," Gremory says. "It's time to put you in your place."

"Try me!" Ryan crowds Gremory, throwing off the demon's pacing. "I've got friends in higher places than you. Maybe if you got off your ass once in a while--"

"Bitch, please," Gremory snorts. He makes a sweeping motion with his forearm and Ryan is hurled into the wall. "You're feeling confident because a few demons have passed you over when they had every right to eviscerate you?"

"How many demons have you told to fuck off?" Ryan snarls as he regains his footing. "Try it sometime; I'd like to see what happens."

"Fuck you," Gremory hisses.

"Oh, am I your first?" Ryan sasses. "Are you done wasting both our time, or did you have something you actually needed to tell me?"

"I'm going to enjoy breaking you," Gremory says in a voice of dark prophecy. Ryan sneers back. 

"Ryan."

The voice doesn't come from Gremory. Ryan doesn't respond at first. It's not too difficult to throw voices, and he's not going to give Gremory the satisfaction of--

"Ryan."

Okay, it's kinda annoying. Ryan swivels and then he's tucked back into Shane's side again.

"You were having a nightmare," Shane informs him. He releases Ryan's biceps--he must have been shaking Ryan--and commences looking worldstar levels of awkward with his hands. After a moment of flailing, he tucks his long fingers under his armpits. 

_ Wrong! _ Ryan's brain chimes. 

"Oh," Ryan's mouth says. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Shane says. He looks really soft and determined in the dim light trickling in from the entryway. It hurts looking at him because Ryan knows how easily he could pop out his soul. That is probably why Ryan doesn't: Shane would be an insultingly easy target. Also, Ryan already chose him as his acting friend and cohost, and those would definitely be affected if Ryan slurped his soul.

"Thanks," Ryan says again because there's nothing else to say, but it's his turn to say something.

"You want to go to bed?" Shane asks. He gets up and stretches obnoxiously, his joints cracking like his body is assembling from an IKEA kit. "I'm gonna…" He nods towards the bathroom and Ryan nods back.

"Yeah." 

He watches Shane stumble to the bathroom before hauling himself upright and into the bedroom. He sinks into the memory foam as his mind feverishly chews over Gremory's threat.

BuzzFeed Unsolved is going strong, and Ryan has been building his portfolio in private ventures in the meanwhile. Fan growth is no longer exponential but still on a steady incline. They'd get a boost in viewings due to Helen's death, and all-in-all, Gremory can go suck a dick because Ryan's managing the shit out of his show. 

Ryan jerks alert when he hears the flushing noise. He humps his way to the left side of the mattress and, when Shane pauses in the doorframe, crooks a finger at him to join.

Gremory has nothing more to say, and Ryan manages to catch a few haunting glimpses of sleep.


	5. Love's Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane tries to cheer up his good buddy, Ryan Bergara.

Shane's weight dips out of bed when the sun has been up for a couple of hours. Ryan stays still, mouth agape and drool bubbling on his bottom lip, as Shane blunders into the kitchen. Ryan listens contentedly to the sounds of Shane working his coffee maker. 

It's easiest to play love. When Ryan first turned, his parents had noticed his increased drive and praised him. Jake had thought he was too much in his head and started being friendlier than before. In those listless months, his family would do whatever he projected to need without question. Love made people gullible suckers. Shane would do crazy favors if Ryan asked, favors that would make getting up and driving across town at two in the morning look like nothing. 

Ryan stretches across the bed. His fingertips and toes barely make it past the mattress. The bed is warm and soft and the Ryan of ten years ago would have found getting up impossible. To spite that, Ryan draws his limbs back in and sits upright. 

"Hey, ghoulfriend, hey," Shane says, appearing in the door with two cups of coffee and a canted hip.

"Hey," Ryan rasps. He clears his throat. "When are you going to work?"

"I'm sick today," Shane informs him. "Come on up now. Coffee in bed never ends well."

"I need to work," Ryan says. He clambers off of the bed and makes grabby hands for the coffee. 

"I bet," Shane says. "Fortunately for you, I know a place where you have unlimited internet and total control in who you interact with."

"My laptop doesn't have anywhere near the processing speed--"

"We haven't filmed yet. You don't need the speed, Bergara."

Ryan takes a sip of the coffee. It's one of the bougie roasts that Shane loves to slander like he's not himself an iconically hipster string bean. 

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll be good," Shane promises. "I won't peek at locations or scripts."

It's all working out incredibly well. If Shane spends the day with him, he'll be raring to get back to Sara tonight, leaving Ryan a nice chunk of time to do the groundwork negotiations for the next demon episode. 

"Okay," Ryan says. 

It's all-in-all a leisurely work day. Ryan revises his script for their upcoming episode while Shane runs reviews and confirms video prompts. Shane orders Chinese delivery for lunch and Ryan busts out some beers. He's having a hard time remembering to channel misery and keeps having to adjust his expression. It's good to have a practice day before he gets back to the office.

Because it's Shane, it's not a solid workday. Shane throws things at Ryan to get his attention if Ryan doesn't immediately give him his attention; he interrupts Ryan periodically to spout nonsense or expand an idea. Usually Ryan does a little give-and-take with him--that's important for maintaining the friendship bond--but today he can respond listlessly. Shane is completely unaffected by Ryan's uninvolvement. 

As evening approaches, Ryan starts making plans for how to nudge Shane out.

"I think I want to go to the gym."

"I knew this time would come," Shane says, full diva mode. He flops back on the couch dramatically. It’s not the reaction Ryan anticipated. He proceeds with caution.

"I'm not asking you to workout--" 

"Fine, I'll work out with you," Shane interrupts. Ryan can't help but twitching a smirk. Shane's not in horrible shape, but the thought of him at Ryan's gym is ridiculous. The idea of him following Ryan's routine is hilarious. And all of a sudden, both are in easy reach.

"You don't have sneakers," Ryan points out.

"I got some in my trunk," Shane replies.

"You don't have workout clothes."

"You'd lend me some."

"Do you even lift?"

"Bro." Shane's eyes are sparkling. "Do _ you _ even lift?"

"Ah, now you're asking for it, big guy!" Ryan pushes to his feet and launches into his bedroom. 

"I'm not wearing one of your jerseys!" Shane shouts.

"You're not allowed to sweat in the vicinity of any of my jerseys!" Ryan digs for a pair of basketball shorts with a good drawstring and grabs a t-shirt at random to throw at Shane's head. "Get dressed for an ass-whooping!"

"Hell yeah, bay-bee," Shane hoots. He drops the shorts because he's as short as he is coordinated. 

Ryan returns to his bedroom to yank on a tank. He hikes his shorts up his hips and double knots his laces. 

In front of the tv, Shane is making a giant bow of the drawstring around his scrawny waist. The shorts hover over the top of Ryan's shins, but on Shane, they stop a good five or six inches up his thigh. Shane reads his mind.

"Too much leg for you, Bergara? Getting intimidated?" He runs a hand down his leg before raising both arms to his sides in jazz hands.

"Ha!" Ryan pats himself down for phone-keys-wallet. "Let's see if you're still talking five minutes in."

Shane is looking significantly better than last night. Ryan wonders how much of his angst had been on Ryan's behalf and how much was genuine affection for Helen. They had met several times, but Ryan had never gotten the impression that they had clicked the same way he and Sara had. There’s for sure more compatibility between Ryan and Sara than there ever was between Helen and Shane. Sara likes weirdos-- exhibit one being her dating Shane, the weirdest looking and acting guy Ryan’s ever met--and Ryan's odd enough to be her cup of tea. Meanwhile Helen liked looking good and things being done well, and Shane was always a little too far outside of her norm.

It's approaching four when they enter the gym, which means that they have about an hour until crowding becomes an issue. Ryan leads Shane through a warm-up lap on the track before targeting an excruciating regimen towards Shane.

Yeah, they are friends, but Ryan legitimately hates Shane and delights at seeing how inferior he is at working out. Ryan therefore pulls zero punches as he rotates among burpees and bear crawls and hovering pushups and jump squats. Shane breaks a sweat as soon as Ryan models the first exercise but nonetheless strains to complete each round.

"I'm not going to be able to move tomorrow," Shane bleats on round two of seven.

"That's what she said," Ryan pants, springing back to his feet. Shane clambers upright and scrunches his face at Ryan. "Hey, you didn't have to be here!"

"Wow, thanks for the encouragement," Shane huffs. He catches a rivulet of sweat streaming toward his eye with the back of his hand, grimaces, and wipes his whole face on Ryan's shirt. It's one of the first BuzzFeed Unsolved shirts, grey with black letters blocking out the message "idk spooky stuff". The shoulders are droopy on Shane where they are usually tight on Ryan, and any time Shane is using his back muscles, the bottom of the shirt bares his hairy belly. 

"Ew," Ryan says. 

"Your workout, your shirt," Shane says, pulling the shirt back down. There is an upside down sweat stain imprint of Shane's face. 

"No. Just, no. You owe me a spooky shirt."

"Would if I could, Ry. These were limited edition. Thanks, BuzzFeed overlords!"

Ryan squints suspiciously at Shane. "Are you trying to delay the inevitable?"

"....no?"

By round four, Shane is a geyser of sweat slipping on the mat. He's still attempting pithy one liners between gasps of air. Ryan cannot look at him without laughing. Bad form isn't inherently funny, but Shane flailing around is inherently to-die-for levels of funny. 

They finish round seven shortly after five o’clock. Shane immediately faceplants.

"Fownioour," Shane mumbles into the mat.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Ryan snickers. 

Shane flops his head sideways. "Roll me over."

"Nah, man," Ryan says, and he manages to hold a straight face. "Gotta do a cooldown."

Shane screws his face up. "Nooooooooooooo!" he wails, and Ryan dives down to clamp a hand over his mouth. Jesus Christ, they’re in public. Ryan fights the instinct to draw away when his hand squishes in the sweat on Shane's upper lip.

"Dude, you're so embarrassing. Look, if you do the cooldown, we can stop by the theater and I'll get you some popcorn." He cautiously peels his hand away. "And then we'll have to get you super hydrated. I've got some serious concerns."

Shane regards him dourly. "What does this cooldown involve?"

"Stretching, mostly," Ryan says, eyes wide and innocent. He gives Shane a hand getting to his feet. With a dramatic-ass grunt, Shane lumbers upright. He stumbles a lap behind Ryan.

"I thought you would call quits," Ryan admits. He's definitely feeling some pride that the relationship is so well groomed that Shane persevered through his version of hell to show Ryan support.

"Was that an option?" Shane huffs. "You enjoyed this far too much." 

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. Because he doesn't actually need Shane immobile tomorrow, he does a few variations of the major stretches. Because he's an incorrigible troll, he throws in lunges and a vinyasa flow.

"You broke my body," Shane accuses as they get in his car. "And my mind. I've been conditioned to believe that resting means that we're about to start another round. You're a sick bastard."

"Nothing wrong with craving fitness," Ryan shrugs.

"You Stockholm Syndromed fitness."

"I stand by what I said."

"I don't think I will be able to get up." Shane winces as he moves his feet on the pedals. 

"Not even for popcorn?"

Shane glares at Ryan. "You're evil."

"Love ya too, babe." It is supposed to come out sounding teasing and funny, but Ryan's words fall more in the sincere category. Ryan keeps talking in attempts to cover up his mistake, facing the window so he can hide his irritated face. It's not fair; Shane says _ baby _ all the time and it sounds fun or dorky or cool, but Ryan apparently has to say it like week three into a marriage after the first fight but with the honeymoon sweetness still intact. He hates that Shane can do something that he can't.

Shane lets him ramble about lifting maximums and low reps and types of cardio until he has subdued his reaction. He refocuses as Shane pulls in to the cinema.

"You better not have been having me on," Shane says darkly. It is, Ryan reckons, a bit like getting threatened by a puppy.

"No, you did good," Ryan says. He slides out of the passenger seat. "Be back in a few."

He finalizes his plan in the five minutes it takes to get popcorn. Ryan will start getting ready for his shower and throw in a, "Thanks for today. See you tomorrow?" as he leaves Shane in the living room. Shane will see himself out, and then Ryan can get to work.

But as with the best-laid plans of mice and men, things go awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to figure out how to slide more world-building into the story, but I'm gonna go ahead and just explain a few pieces:
> 
> \- In this story, a soul signifies free will. If a person loses their soul, they become a demon, and all of their actions are dictated by whichever cardinal sin functions as their new operating system. (Ryan wasted his soul for one guitar song, and even though he loved music, he stopped pursuing the field because he could never play anything as well as that one song and therefore got no pride fulfillment.) 
> 
> \- There is a demon hierarchy, and it is 100% a pyramid scheme. The "upline" demon consumes the newbie's soul, bastardizing the free will aspect so that they can give the new demon direct commands. Generalizations don't work (the same way someone could choose to lose weight, but nothing happens if they don't make daily, specific choices about diet and fitness). Gremory is Ryan's upline. 
> 
> \- Fulfillment for demons results in an expanded emotional range. A fully fulfilled demon can experience all sorts of emotions, whereas a somewhat fulfilled demon may experience one or two. Soul-snacking provides some fulfillment for all the demon uplines of the snacker.


	6. Todd Turpitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's just doing his usual--doing the groundwork for the next Unsolved episode--when everything goes to hell. 
> 
> Not literally, of course. Though honestly, that'd be preferable.

It's not like Ryan gets to work the second Shane leaves, but he definitely is setting up a summons within the minute. Their next demon location will involve one of a New Age variety, and those are fairly unpredictable. Ryan's not sure how long negotiations will take.

He sets the welcoming basket of cheap beers in the middle of the summoning circle as the pigs' blood starts getting tacky. 

"Todd?" Ryan calls. "Hey. Got a free minute?"

He spends a couple of minutes asking politely, but after three minutes of being ignored, he's done playing nice. As he chants, blue flames flicker along the outlined circle.

“Now wake, now rise. I demand you answer me. Despierta ahora, levántate ahora. Te ordeno que me contestes. Mewosamasu, okiru. Watashi ni kite.” 

The air ripples and reflects upon itself, creating an increasingly clear image of a tall, half-naked, buff twenty-year old with a swoop of blonde hair over cobalt-blue eyes. 

"Ay, what you want, bitch?" Todd says the moment his mouth fully forms. 

"Not like you couldn't answer sooner," Ryan retorts. "Bitch."

Todd shrugs at him with a half-smile. "I was hanging with my boys." He gives Ryan a little nod of acknowledgement as he grabs a Busch and starts chugging.

"No doubt, no doubt," Ryan says. "And this doesn't need to take long."

"Back to my first question," Todd says. He gurgles his last mouthful of Busch and crunches the can one-handedly. "Whaddya want, bitch?"

"Safe passage," Ryan says. "I'm going to be touring your campus in three weeks with a spiritual brick. He is going to say shit to try and provoke a reaction. I request a pact he go unharmed."

"No shit," Todd snorts. "You're the BuzzFeed guy!"

"Yes shit." Ryan preens a little. Todd is kinda a big deal, and it really means something that he has heard of them. 

Todd laughs to himself and swishes his hair. "So you're asking for a favor."

It's Ryan's turn to laugh. "A favor is worthless. I want a contract."

"And what do you have that I would want?"

"You tell me." Ryan swallows hard. He's only good at negotiation out of necessity. He knows that what he offers will never be enough. He knows any demon will drag the negotiation out until every possible benefit has been acquired. All he has been able to uncover on Todd has been the stereotypical frat boy persona, but that tells nothing of his capital vice. 

"You want to make me work for your deal?" Todd pops open a can of Coors and pours it down while maintaining eye contact with Ryan. It's not a great vibe, but Ryan refuses to look away. Todd licks away the last drops and crunches the can. "What do you usually offer?"

"Favors, pranks, manipulations. I'm really good at whatever I put my mind to. Tell me, there's got to be something that you want."

"Oh yeah," Todd says. 

"Go on then, share with the class."

"I want to  _ own _ you."

Ryan laughs nervously before he can stop himself. "What?"

Todd leans forward, into the edge of the circle, eyes practically black, and breathes, "To own you," in Ryan's face. Fucking hell, demons are weird.

"There's not a way to do that," Ryan says. "Gremory's got my chain, and there's no way to break it."

"Not in the bureaucratic way," Todd smirks. "In the Biblical way."

Ah. Todd’s running on lust, then. "Sodomy?" Ryan says, tasting the way the word rolls around his mouth. He doesn't care for it.

"Not take you," Todd hisses. "Own you."

"Yeah, I'm going to need you to clarify that for me," Ryan huffs. "What does that involve?" Todd's eyes twitch to a spot behind Ryan. Ryan ignores him. "Spell it out for me. You wanna fuck me? You wanna roleplay a kink?"

"Who's the friend?" Todd purrs, and Ryan throws an automatic glance over his shoulder before refocusing his attention on Todd.

He looks back again. This time he doesn't look away.

"Sorry," a very pink Shane stammers from the open doorway. "I must've dopped my phrone and uh…" He is clearly avoiding eye contact but also very obviously staring at the summoning circle and Todd and the little basket of beers.

"Shit shit shit shit," Ryan says in one breath. He rushes towards Shane, who has exactly enough time to take one giant step backwards. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He delivers two quick rabbit punches to Shane's temple, catches his body, and pulls him into the apartment.

"Smooth," Todd comments. He gargles down another beer.

Ryan doesn't respond bother responding. He closes the door and hauls Shane into his bedroom. Todd wolf whistles as they pass.

Ryan drags Shane onto the bed. He needs to keep him under. He runs to the bathroom and digs through his medicine cabinet for ambien.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Todd calls from the living room.

"NO," Ryan roars. He tears open the ambien with trembling hands and jams three pills into Shane's mouth. "Shit!"

Shane is unresponsive, but his throat moves when Ryan covers his nose and he chokes down the pills dry. Ryan collapses on the bed next to him.

"Is now a bad time?" Todd calls impassively.. "You could call me back later, especially if you're going to be in there for a while."

"You can be thinking about being specific about what you want!" Ryan shouts back. He rolls over to look at Shane. He's still breathing, and although there is a red mark where Ryan punched him, it's not swelling too alarmingly. He’ll have to monitor that.

"You gonna wipe him?"

"No," Ryan says. It's more to himself than to Todd. He’s proud, not stupid. He knows that he doesn't have the ability to do anything near a mind wipe. Even if he did find someone who could, it's still too dangerous. Shane would be missing some screws. And Shane is instrumental to the success of Unsolved, so it’s absolutely out of the question.

Ryan stares at Shane's blank face. He's not used to having faith in things--it's too counterintuitive to pride--but he does believe in Shane's ability to downplay any supernatural occurrence. All he needs to do is find a reasonable explanation for the inevitable headache and Shane will take the lead, inventing all sorts of excuses for why he saw his co-host negotiating sex with a demon in a summoning circle. 

"Gayyyyyy!" Todd calls from the living room. Ryan gets up with a grunt to face him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't have internet for the next two days, so voila: early update!
> 
> I really, really, really don't speak Spanish or Japanese, so if anyone has suggestions on editing the summons, I'd be super grateful.  
(World-building fun fact!: linguistic triangulation or the same summons in three languages is an easy way to summon demons.)


	7. The Nonbeliever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Review:  
Gadzooks! Shane caught Ryan mid-deal with another demon from a future episode location, and Ryan reacted with a direct knock-out hit before finishing the deal negotiations for Shane's future safety. What will Shane remember? Will Ryan be able to maintain his cover-up? More importantly, will Shane believe the story Ryan feeds him? 
> 
> (I may have been watching Legend of Korra recently and imagining the broadcaster guy reading chapter recaps 🙃)

Ryan jerks awake when Shane’s breathing changes from slow and loud to faster but quieter. Shane’s waking up, and that means one thing. It’s showtime.

"Ryan?" Shane has lines crisscrossing his face from creases in the pillow. 

"Hey, Shane," Ryan says in his softest, most reassuring voice. "You okay, man?"

Shane is lying a foot from his face and Ryan can practically see the gears turning behind his gummed up eyes.

"I'm feeling very disoriented," Shane informs him matter-of-factly. "I'm in your bed."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Do you remember how you got here?"

Awareness flashes through Shane's eyes for a brief second and anxiety hits Ryan like a flash of lightning. "Not really."

"I think you got mugged in the parking lot and crawled back to my apartment," Ryan says. "You passed out in my door.” He contorts his face into a grimace. “It was scary.”

"The mugger hit my head?" Shane asks. He reaches up to gently prod his temples.

"Count yourself lucky it wasn't one of those heroin-stabbing muggers."

Shane snorts and relaxes infinitesimally. "What did the mugger take?"

"Your wallet," Ryan says. "I suggest you close down your credit cards as soon as possible." He had pocketed the cash--who even carries cash nowadays?--and destroyed the cards, but he sure as hell isn’t telling Shane any of that.

"Crap," Shane sighs. Ryan can see him battling whether or not to share whatever patchy details he has. "So, uh, this mugger didn't take my keys?"

"Apparently not," Ryan shrugs. "How are you feeling now?"

"Really awful," Shane says. "Like, already, I already wasn't going to be able to physically move because some devil worked me raw yesterday--" he shoots an accusing glare at Ryan and looks drained from even that much focus-- "and now my head's cracked open."

"Right," Ryan says. "So you're saying thank you for giving you something to think about other than your coconut getting creamed?"

Shane swats lazily at him. "Gimme my phone. Did they take my phone?"

"No. You left your phone here."

Shane goes very still, and Ryan wonders if that detail is jogging any more memories of last night. 

"Lucky," Shane finally says. He grabs at the phone as Ryan is handing it to him. 

"I want to take you to urgent care now that you're up," Ryan says. "You can get on the 'gram on the way."

"I'm talking to Sara," Shane says flatly. Ryan could slap himself in the face. Of course Shane is going to talk to Sara about this. Shane isn’t living for the buzz of popularity; his brand is crazy weird but wholesome millennial. 

"Ok, ok," Ryan concedes. He clambers out of bed and moves toward the bathroom. He can't help but to cast a glance around the living room on his way. There is no trace of the original summoning circle. The charging cord is arcing along the outline of part of the circle. This room is going to be essential for Shane to convince himself that he had imagined things.

He shuts the bathroom door and listens intently as Shane gets up and talks to Sara. He knows Shane is currently peering into the living room.

"Morning, darlin'...I'm at Ryan's...yeah, that's what I was planning to do...actually about to go to urgent care about a mugging last night… Not Ryan, me...fine, a little sore…"

Ryan tries to pee softly so he can eavesdrop, but once he gets going, there's no slowing down.

"...whichever one is closest. I'll let you know when we're on the road."

Ryan shakes and flushes. He doesn't want to rush Shane's examination of the living room. He's confident in his job. Ears peeled, he starts brushing his teeth.

"Love you...yeah...will do. See you soon, love."

Ryan spits and rinses, then opens the door.

"Wash up, big guy," he says. Shane looks up from where he's splayed bellydown on the floor. "Whatcha doing down there?"

"Did you have somebody over last night?" he asks with open curiosity. 

"Yeah, doofus. You."

"Anyone else?"

"No," Ryan says. He immediately panics over his delivery of the line. Maybe he should've gone for a firmer, more certain tone. But wouldn't that be more suspicious? "Why?"

"I thought I saw somebody," Shane tells the floor. He's fidgeting with the charger. "My head is all messed up." Shane sweeps an arm across the floor. "Thought you had a little occult circle here." He's not looking at Ryan, and suddenly, it's very important to Ryan that he can clearly read Shane. Ryan steps closer and Shane flinches.

"Shane?" Ryan calls, frozen midstep. Shane isn't supposed to be scared of him, that's not part of the plan. There’s a dozen warning alarms clamoring in Ryan’s brain.

"Wild, isn't it?" Shane asks, and he rolls over so they can see each other. Ryan's breath catches in his throat.

"You thought I was messing with witchcraft?" Ryan snorts. His expression feels forced and fake on his face. "Pretty wild, yeah."

"Yeah," Shane agrees. He crawls to his feet and on to the bathroom while Ryan sits on the couch and has a little panic attack. 

Ryan manages to roughly sort through his mental shit by the time Shane re-emerges, the ends of his hair damp from the shower. He hovers at Shane's elbow as they head down to the car.

“I’m fine,” Shane tells him.

“We don’t know for sure until you get checked out,” Ryan says. “And it’s just a lot happening in a short period of time. We gotta know for sure.”

Shane softens and doesn’t comment when Ryan gets the car door for him.

Urgent care takes less than an hour. Sara meets them in the waiting room and perches in her chair next to Shane looking sincerely concerned in a way that Ryan doesn’t remember ever being capable of feeling.

“My big strong boy got a bruise,” Sara says. She smacks a kiss to Shane’s shoulder, and he somehow melts down to her height to rest his face against hers.

“You gonna kiss it better?”

“Crikey, is that what passes for healthcare these days?” Sara nonetheless presses a careful kiss onto Shane’s right temple. “You got any injuries I can heal with my magic kisses, Mr. Bergara?”

“Hey!” Shane pouts. He wags a finger at Ryan and puts on his old-timey accent. “Eh! Don’t go trying to steal my girl, eh!”

“Why, because I don’t have one?” Ryan retorts. He pivots in his chair so that he doesn’t have to look at them. Why the hell did he say that? What face is he supposed to make after cracking a joke about his freshly deceased girlfriend? 

“Ryan,” Shane says. He sounds positively gutted, and Ryan panics. 

“Probably should file a report at the police station,” he says hurriedly, still not looking at Shane and Sara. “Shoulda done that last night. Sorry.” 

“Ryan,” Shane says again. Ryan jumps when Shane grabs his knee. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry. That was insensitive for me to say.” Shane shakes his knee a bit. “I’ll do better.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says gruffly. “Thanks, man.”

“Let’s do a nice breakfast,” Sara interjects, and Ryan promptly experiences full-body relief. “I have a mighty need for some avocado toast.”

“Not that, but yes,” Ryan agrees.

Sure, the police report will be a hassle, but the balance feels miraculously restored as they debate breakfast options and wait for Shane's paperwork from the doctor. 


	8. Callum Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week later, Ryan is still trying to work recovery from that time Shane caught him making a deal with a demon. It's further complicated by the fact that they're in the middle of filming the first episode of the next Supernatural season.

Everything is all fucked up.

Ryan peeks another look over at Shane, but he's still staring doggedly out the sedan window. When Ryan reaches for his water bottle in the center cup holder, Shane twitches so violently that he bangs his head on the glass.

"I know you've got a thick skull," Ryan says, "but you don't have to test it."

"It's my first calling," Shane shrugs. "The Test Friends."

Ryan itches to say something along the lines of  _ friends aren't afraid of each other _ , to call Shane out on his sketchy behavior for the past week, but he can't fault him for the stares, the wariness, and the jumpiness. Shane is remembering a lot more clearly than Ryan reckoned he would, and Ryan wonders for the thousandth time if he should have just given Shane an eensy, teensy bit of memory alteration.

The answer is always no. Minds are so complex and suggestible beyond sentient control. Besides, demon meddling always leaves grimy prints, and Shane is a quirky old Midwestern soul that would definitely dim under the influence. 

"You implying that I should too?" Ryan instead demands in mock indignation.

"Only true Test Friends--"

Ryan flicks Shane in the forehead. "You're right," he says with a trademark shit-eating grin. "Your noggin, sir, is a tough nut to crack." And Ryan can't read minds, but he can definitely see Shane thinking about the night of the "mugging." He simultaneously wants Shane to say something about that night and is dreading it actually happening. Apparently Shane doesn't want to get into it. Not here, at least. Not now.

"That the best you got, Bergara?" Shane says, and thus begins a slap fight that has their crew rolling their eyes and turning up the BFU playlist.

These are the moments where Ryan feels like things aren't ruined. Shane hoots and lands a likely-unintentional high five amid his barrage of smacks, and with his face all crinkled up, it's so easy to imagine that the tension has passed, that it's a figment of Ryan's imagination.

But no, ten minutes later, Shane is jamming to his oversized headphones and shooting Ryan occasional searching stares that he probably thinks count as sneaky. Ryan doesn't think Shane could manage actually being sneaky it the fate of humankind depended on it, but Shane loves going for jumpscares on set and he has to toss the guy a bone every now and then. Anyways, things aren't okay and Ryan doesn't know how to fix it. He'll just have to keep Shane engaged on camera so that their screen chemistry isn't impaired. Ryan can edit around the weird parts.

They arrive on location just before eight. Ryan bustles out of the car first so he can go talk to the owner and make sure everything is squared away before they start filming. This unfortunate thing that they’ve got going on right now isn’t going to get in the way of the success of the show. Ryan won’t let it.

Ryan gives the owner a little wave. He keeps his body language open and polite. They’re always excited when Ryan first calls to schedule a visit, but sometimes they like to heap on off-limits things once the team arrives. It really diminishes the show; part of the charm of the show is that Ryan and Shane often get access to places not open to the public. Ryan is honest enough with himself to admit that the majority of the charm of the show comes from Shane being a pleasantly insane man. The sting of Shane’s popularity can’t diminish the accolades and reception for Ryan’s creation. And Ryan fucking picked Shane, so his popularity is something that Ryan can be proud of too. 

Half an hour later, Ryan is perched on the edge of his seat while Mark checks the cameras and lighting for their coatroom interview. Shane is sprawled obnoxiously over his chair and Ryan would quite literally kill to make him at least look a little more interested in the proceedings. The fans can be intuitive sometimes, and the concern about how they’ll look on camera is boiling his blood. He takes a huge breath when Mark gives him the thumbs up.

“This week on BuzzFeed Unsolved, we investigate Callum Castle in Chemult, Oregon as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real.” 

In his periphery, Ryan sees Shane shaking his head and wailing out a soft, shaky, “NoOoooOo.” It’s not his favorite bit, but the fans love it, so it’s not going anywhere. 

“This nineteenth century hunting lodge was a west coast Mecca of sorts for hunters more interested in fame and glamour than actually roughing it.”

“Oooh, yes,” Shane agrees knowledgeably. “Those funters and glunters.”

“The what?”

“Fame-hunters. Glamour-hunters.”

“Ohhh, glunting like glamping?”

“Exactly like glamping.” 

Ryan wheezes out a laugh and continues on with his monologue. “Now some would say that this location belongs in the True Crime season, where we’ve researched disturbances, disappearances, and murders. But here at Callum Castle, all three have historically been attributed to supernatural stimuli.” 

“Oh boy.” Shane slaps his hands together. “These ghosties sure keep it busy.” He leans in and whispers impishly to the camera, “And I don’t mean the fun kind of ‘keep it busy,’ I really mean ‘doing absolutely nothing because they definitely don’t exist.’” He chortles good-naturedly and looks back at Ryan with a sly grin. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Let’s just get into the history of it,” Ryan says. “And just keep our minds open to the evidence.”

“But of course!”

“In the late 1860s, a section of the forest was cut down for the original Callum Castle. Benjamin Greene, a California native, built the lodge as a getaway for family and friends. His son-in-law, Adalbert Miller, monetized the property during hunting season. However, Miller was not the sharpest tool in the construction shed. The property grew in a piecemeal, haphazard fashion, and with each new addition, there were more problems. Leaks were commonplace, there were several rooms missing doors, and the outhouse’s location proved to be problematic relative to the kitchen.”

“Problematic relative to the kitchen?” Shane repeats, half-laughing, half-disgusted. “I don’t know if I want more details on that, but I definitely need them.”

“From my understanding, it was more of an odor issue than a leakage issue.”

“Leakage,” Shane gags. “See, here’s where I’ve got to put my foot down. I don’t want to wake up, meander down to the kitchen for some fresh mountain goat jerky and a cup o’ joe, and look out over a stinking poo poo receptacle.” 

“Mountain goat jerky?” Ryan giggles. 

“I don’t know what they’ve got in these parts.” Shane waves his hands dramatically. “Bears?”

“Not funny,” Ryan says sharply. It’s really not. Bears, for some unbeknownst-to-Ryan reason, are staunchly anti-demon; therefore, Ryan is staunchly anti-bear. “They’re definitely here.” 

“Bear jerky would be safe! The bear would be dead!”

Ryan knocks on the wooden frame of his chair. “If there are any bears in the area, I would like you to note that I am not mocking your deaths.”

“So now you’re believing in ghosts, demons, and vengeful, English-speaking bears.”

“I’m not saying I do. I’m saying I’m not going to test it.”

Shane holds up his hands. “Okay. Okay.”

“Can I carry on now?”

“You may.”

“You sure? You don’t have one more lethal being you want to psych on my person?”

“Nope, that was it.”

“Well, thank you then—”

“Unless—”

The bit goes on for longer than Ryan would like, but he’s not going to tone down the bantering because he doesn’t want Shane to withdraw. They make it through the major points of the story within four shoots: the full renovation concluding with the plumber who claimed to have been possessed into murdering six of the crew, the two incidents of mass disappearances, and the general haunting occurrences with things moving, lights turning on unexpectedly, and reports of physical sensations. 

“Alright,” Ryan says after they film the outro. “Let’s get investigating.”

“Let’s,” Shane agrees. He avoids eye contact with Ryan as he pulls on his camera gear. Sometimes the banter right after filming is weaker, like they saved all their energy for the video, but it’s hardly ever straight from banter to dead silence. The only other time that comes to mind is that one time that Shane spent an entire episode trying not to throw up airport hot dogs. 

“You feeling alright?” Ryan asks carefully. He doesn’t want to unpack anything here that he can’t pack right back up if it’s getting inconvenient.

“Are you feeling alright?” Shane retorts, only it doesn’t sound like a snappy comeback or quality ribbing. It sounds really honest, and also it makes absolutely zero sense. Shane has been acting all stand-offish, but he’s also acting like he’s still really concerned about Ryan, and those two things are not even a little bit compatible. Shane’s being hard to read with his complicated human feelings, and Ryan is so ready to flip his shit if his Neaderthal of a coworker steps out of line.

“Ok, cool,” Ryan says with just a little bit of a hurt intentionally laced into his voice. “Don’t talk about it then. I thought  _ I _ was the bro, but--”

“I know what you tried to do,” Shane says. It’s so soft it could be one of those noises that they spend twenty minutes in a sound booth debating whether it’s ghostly communication or rustling clothes. Ryan could act like he didn’t hear it and he knows that Shane would let it drop.

It’s a nice thought and all, but there’s no damn way he’s going to act like he didn’t hear it.

“Tried!?” Ryan repeats indignantly. 

“I know you’re desperate,” Shane continues. His voice is so gentle, and it’s making Ryan so mad because Shane trying to calm him while talking out of his ass is such a fucking Madej move. Ryan can’t even stick two words together. He snarls a laugh that Shane takes in stride. “I can’t even imagine what it feels like.”

Ryan’s rage crests and he can feel a direction for the conversation assembling before him in the sudden internal calm. He’s gonna tragedy his way through this shit, make it all about himself . “You have no idea.”

“I know. I’m sorry. And I know you want to reach her, but you have to eventually accept that--”

Ryan’s brain screeches to a halt so abruptly that his control over his facial expressions goes temporarily offline.

“Ryan?” Shane says.

Ryan shakes his head. “Could you, uh, tell me what you do know?”

Shane looks uncomfortable, but he maintains eye contact with Ryan. “I know that you tried to barter with a witch--a warlock?-- to summon Helen, or at least talk to her again. Hell, where did you find that guy, Ryan? Grindr?”

“Uh,” Ryan stammers. It had never occurred to him that Shane would have a theory for what he saw. He had hoped for Shane forgetting the details or shrugging off the bits he did remember as long as there was plausible deniability. Worst case scenario was that Shane found out about demons. He had never considered the possibility of something in between.

“You invited him into your home,” Shane continues, and he looks much more comfortable now that he’s arrived at the Ryan-berating portion of his talk. “That’s actually dangerous, Ry. You’re lucky nothing worse happened.”

“Uh,” Ryan repeats like an idiot. 

“And you shouldn’t sell yourself like that,” Shane says firmly. He’s flushing dark enough that it’s clearly visible in the shoddy lighting of their flashlights. “I mean, you do you, obviously. I just always thought you were the type of guy that took that stuff seriously.”

“Sex stuff?” Ryan clarifies.

“Yeah.” Shane keeps looking determinedly at Ryan. “And if you really want to try contacting Helen, let me be there. I don’t want people taking advantage of you or your grief.”

Once Ryan’s brain is sufficiently rebooted, he mumbles a quick thanks.

“And in future,” Shane says dryly. Ryan’s ears perk up at the playful, lighthearted tone. “Maybe don’t flail at me so hard that you  _ knock me out _ .”

Ryan’s stomach plummets to new lows. “Knock you out?” he coughs.

“Yeah.” Shane turns his back to Ryan and begins meandering back down the hallway. “An excitable little guy, aren’t you?”

Ryan gapes at Shane’s back. A lot of things are suddenly making a lot more sense, but Ryan will be damned if he ever understands the logic behind confronting an assailant and immediately offering an open target.

Well, Ryan will be damned anyways, but the sentiment still stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum Castle is fictional, but it is based on a great-uncle's lodge-turned-resort. In the next chapter, Ryan will be reviewing and editing footage, and the location will get more detail.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. On the Cutting Room Floor

Ryan lifts the right earpad of his headphones and stares dispassionately at Shane. “What.”

“You taking a lunch break any time soon?”

Ryan glowers at Shane in response. How the heck is he supposed to take a lunch break when he’s got this hot mess of an episode to stitch together? To think that he had originally been glad that he and Shane had sorted out some sort of level ground post-caught-deal-making! If he had known that there’s very clearly defined before-and-after body language in the Callum Castle footage, he’d welcome back the awkward vibes in a heartbeat. 

“You should take a break,” Shane says firmly. “I can see your little psychotic hamster wheel going hyperspeed. Give it a rest, yeah?”

It’s all Shane’s fault. Shane’s the one who should be giving it a rest. But Ryan’s supposed to be playing all flimsy from grief and apologetic for inflicting the head injury, so he can’t very well argue with Shane without raising any red flags. God, this sucks. 

“Where to?” Ryan asks with glum resignation when the silence is starting to get awkwardly long.

“What do you want?”

Subway is literally right across the street and will take all of five minutes to order. It’s the most acceptable option by far. Shane agrees, and Ryan gives his laptop a murderous farewell look as he grabs his wallet and jacket.

“We have a team for editing,” Shane says on the elevator. “It’s okay to use them.”

“I’m not giving them unsorted shit,” Ryan snaps. He takes a calming breath. It’s not very deep. “Besides, I still have to figure out what footage I’m presenting as evidence and get your reaction to it.” He continues when he hears Shane’s heavy exhale, like he’s about to argue with Ryan over the necessity of Ryan making his show perfect. “Or I could just put some glasses on a broom and voiceover some crap about heavy winds and the power of imagination.”

“No one would notice the difference,” Shane agrees amicably.

“Big head, stick body...you’re right.” Shane might have helped Ryan set up the tease, but that doesn’t make slam dunking the punchline any less delightful. He side-eyes Shane with a cackle. Of the two of them, Ryan is definitely the better looking. Which makes it infuriating when Shane’s got a bigger following, gets the bigger laughs, has the more ardent fans. The least Ryan can do is insult his appearance on the regular.

Shane doesn’t look too bothered by the usual body comments. If anything, he looks a little pleased. He probably thinks he’s distracting Ryan from work stress. He totally thinks he’s sneaky like that. Damn does he try hard to be a good guy.

“How are your projects going?” Ryan asks politely once he has stopped sniggering. 

Shane shrugs. “Can’t complain. BuzzFeed’s greenlighting everything except the budget.”

Ryan knows the life. He’s been granted precisely two splurge ghosthunting trips- one to Mexico to introduce Shane as his new cohost, and one to London to kickstart support for BuzzFeed’s international branding. “Anything you’re excited about?”

Shane does his little yes-but-that’s-not-what-I-want-to-talk-about shoulder shimmy. He’s such an easy read, more of a flashing billboard than an open book. “I’m excited about getting lunch with my good buddy, Ryan Bergara.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ryan says long-sufferingly. He can feel the speech approaching with the same incoming inevitably of an opening Star Wars scrolling text.

“We’ve all pulled long nights for ‘Feed, but you gotta take care of yourself. You run yourself down constantly.”

Ryan knows Shane’s trying to be helpful, but insinuating that Ryan is not doing a beast job of maintaining the perfect stress-work balance is not doing it for him. He doesn’t get much of a chance to weigh in.

“No, listen.” 

Ryan shuts his mouth indignantly, but Shane isn’t actually saying anything more. Several long, silent seconds pass, and Shane continues in a much quieter voice. “I haven’t been there for you this past week like I should have. I don’t know whether or not it’s my place to get involved, to push in, or to leave you to cope as you see fit, but I'm not leaving you to it.”

“Leaving me to it? What does that even...space is good. I like space.” 

“You’re tearing yourself up over our first ep, and we’ve got five more to film in the next three weeks. There’s more to life than work, and I don’t want you to forget that just because you lost an important part of your life outside of work.”

Ryan leads the way out of the elevator. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“It’s exactly what’s happening.”

It’d be nice of Shane could take his observations and theories and shove them up his ass. Ryan breaks into a powerwalk. He doesn’t have the time or energy to playact for him around the clock. But it’s impossible to outwalk Shane; in a few long strides, Shane is back next to Ryan. “I like keeping busy.”

“Okay,” Shane says encouragingly. “Let’s find some fun things to keep busy with. A movie night. Go to a park.” He pulls a martyred face. “A sporting event.”

“The next few weeks are kind of busy for me, you know that.”

“And the way I see it,” Shane says with crippling sincerity, “I’m all you got.”

It’s a peculiar nobility, what Shane has. Ryan has family that live less than two hours away, and if Ryan were so destroyed, he could easily go recuperate outside of LA. It’s so unnecessary. And it’s not like Shane is Ryan’s only friend. Ryan has invested a good amount of time in keeping several purely human associates in the friendship wing. It’s good for social media.

“I didn’t lose everything,” Ryan says. “Don’t infantilize me.”

“You can’t avoid me,” Shane says, which, yeah, that much is true. “You can pigeonhole yourself away from everyone else, you can tell everyone else that you’re managing, but you can’t hide from me because I sit right next to you every day.”

“What?” Ryan laughs. The sound rings utterly unconvincing and shaky at best. It’s really something, how far off Shane is in his estimation of what’s going on in Ryan’s head. This expectation of Ryan feeling affection and loss and misery is so high. Like, yeah, it sucks that Ryan’s down a trophy girlfriend, but the fan support and response--totally worth it. 

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.” Ryan shakes his head and charges through the lobby doors with Shane never breaking stride beside him. “Stop expecting me to grieve the way you want me to grieve.”

“I don’t want you hurt,” Shane says. “And you’re not acting like a sane person right now.”

Ryan does a quick check of the street before dashing across like the jaywalking rebel he is. When they reach the other side of the street, he has his response ready. “I’m not talking about this stuff in public.”

“Then you’re gonna have to agree to hang out with me.”

“I gotta be real. You’re not helping my stress levels, bud.”

Shane’s eye roll is so dramatic that Ryan can see it in the blurry edges of his peripheral vision. “Your version of managing stress is running yourself into the ground, _ bud_.”

“You’re about to get ignored. Stop nagging me in public.”

“Right,” Shane bites back. “Wouldn’t want to mess with your image.”

The words erupt something under Ryan’s skin and a deep, choking sense of wrongness surges up as he feels the sudden weight of his greasy, overgrown hair, his hoodie with the frayed string ends, his jeans that he’s worn the last three days in a row. He’s looking like the worst kind of hot mess and apparently can’t even notice it unless it actually pointed out directly by his balloon man of a coworker.

“Hey, Ryan,” Shane says in a voice that’s too loud, too boisterous. “What’re you ordering?”

The complete non sequitur is jarring enough to give Ryan an out from his downspiral. He tugs his hood up over his head and shrugs with his best impression of nonchalance. “I dunno. What about you, big guy?”

“Steak and cheese,” Shane replies instantly. He follows up with one of his squeaky, weirdass voices. “Gotta get dem toasty buns!”

“You’re ridiculous. I just want you to know you’re ridiculous.”

Shane shrugs, and Ryan feels a rush of something through his gut. It’s a taste of what things could have been if Ryan were capable of love and loyalty. Old Ryan would have been so intimidated by Shane’s fearlessness in the face of being deemed a weirdo. He would have been a little helpless fucking moth drawn to Shane the same as his tens of thousands of followers. He would have tried to emulate that energy. He would have found himself.

It’s a brief sense that serves no purpose and is therefore instantly disregarded. Ryan orders whichever sandwich has Subway in its name and palms a bag of chips on his way to the cash register. Shane is yammering his opinion about Superman, who's prominently featured on his Lays, and it makes it really easy for Ryan to blindly agree while he’s mentally rearranging.

Top priority is, of course, making sure the episode works. But apparently he’ll have to also juggle Shane’s concern about his wellbeing and make sure he’s presenting to look good. What’s the point of having a jacked body if he’s not going to flaunt it? That literally goes against everything Ryan stands for, and he’s deeply discomfited that he’s slacked on that front while working on the number one priority.

As soon as the elevator door shuts, Shane stops talking. They just stand there, double-fisting sandwiches and chips, as the walls hum and vibrate.

“Thanks,” Ryan says. It’s way obvious that Shane knew exactly what he was doing with his word deluge. 

“Food’s important,” Shane says firmly. He taps his sub against Ryan’s like he’s just made a toast. “Food is life.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s trying to communicate that he’s saying thanks for more than the food without making crazy eyes. Shane gives him a little nod that lets him know his message was received. “You should make a show about--oh, wait, no, there’s already a shit Madej show about food come to life.”

“Is there? I only know the critically acclaimed--”

“Ha!”

“-fan-favorite-”

“Suuuuuuure.”

“-delightfully epic Hotdaga.”

“Is today opposite day? It sounds like you’re saying today is opposite day.”

The elevator dings, the doors shuffle open, and they keep the familiar teasing argument rolling all the way back to their desks. Then Shane’s shit-eating grin fades into something gentler.

“Let me know when there’s something I can do,” Shane says, which basically is his blessing for Ryan to dive back into editing. Ryan gives him a thumbs-up as he attempts to put his headphones on while setting down his lunch and sitting down in his seat. It’s entirely way too much going on, and Ryan ends up with his headphones halfway around his neck and his bag of chips on the floor. So fucking awkward. Who even does thumbs ups anymore?

Shane laughs like a giant dorky dick and collapses into his chair with no zero aplomb. Ryan is all but fuming as he yanks his headphones into proper position and hunches back down over his computer. 

On screen, a tiny Ryan glowers up at a tiny Shane’s chest camera from a little too far away.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making anything weird,” the tiny Shane says. His tone is calm, clear, and borderline patronizing. 

“People died here.” The tiny Ryan crosses his arms, jostles his camera, and drops his arms back to his sides. They hang loosely, looking uncomfortably out of place. 

Ryan drags the cursor forward slightly, looking for the moment when Shane cracks a joke about Adalbert being addled, which is such low-hanging fruit that Ryan’s a bit pissed he didn’t make the joke in his location overview. He crops the video five seconds before the pun and deletes the unusable footage.

The upstairs footage is great. Ryan flags some Spirit Box sounds from the wraparound bunkroom. The curtain walls separating the beds are light enough to be constantly catching air currents from the rest of the cabin, and the wall of secondhand dressers are each topped with a little mirror that reflects light eerily across the walls. As Shane beleaguers whatever spirits be present, Ryan laughs nervously and scolds him with faint incredulity.

It’s a good thing, Ryan reflects while pausing on a frame where he’s looking off into the empty room, that cameras can only capture physical things. He remembers vividly staring down a bearded man who emerged, snarling and weak, from the linen closet. In the beginning, Ryan would have had a full blown tizzy if an unknown spectral being made an appearance. Now he knows better. Specters aren’t used to being seen, and they have a tendency to freeze up when spotted. And even if a specter didn’t stop under Ryan’s glare, it takes an immense amount of energy to break through to the physical world, and Ryan is quite capable of absorbing that energy. 

Honestly, it’s only demons that can pose a problem. But with a solid pact, even that can be handled.

Ryan rubs at his forehead. He’s definitely not looking forward to his part in the upcoming deal. It won’t do to think about that right now though.

“Hey,” Ryan says. 

“Hey,” Shane retorts with the exact same brusque energy.

“You wanna hear some ghosts?”

Shane stands up, and it’s only then that Ryan realizes that it’s dark outside and half the office is gone. “Literally always. But I guess I can settle for some old house creaks and breezes.”

“I hate you.”

"Yeah, yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, bablevees, for finding the word I was looking for!


	10. Whiteout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan tries to have a relaxing night in, but he's got some persistent demon problems.

Ryan can’t remember the last time he took a long hot shower. He takes enough time in the shower to scrub himself clean and make sure he smells good, and the cold water keeps his pores looking good for the camera and helps repair his muscles post workout. There’s no legitimate reason to scald himself for half an hour or more.

He emerges from a eight minute shower that involved two rounds of intense shampooing and gives himself a clinical overview in the mirror. His body is staying sufficiently tight, but he’ll need to get some sun exposure this week or he’ll lose that healthy glow of a tan. Ryan grabs his towel for a preliminary towel-down. It’s when he’s looking back into the mirror, intending to start styling his hair, that his world flashes white.

It’s a nondescript, white-walled hallway with hardwood floors. There’s a door to the basement and it won’t open, but Ryan desperately needs to get in. Not wants. Needs.

It is essential that he gets in. So vital that it will destroy Ryan if he cannot get in.

The vision fades as quickly as it comes and leaves Ryan feeling nauseated and clinging to the sides of the sink. Once he has sufficiently gathered his bearings and settled his stomach, Ryan shakily reaches up to fluff his hair and apply a dab of leave-in conditioner to give his hair a little more body.

It’s not uncommon for the visions to come with some sense of feelings, but Ryan doesn’t recall ever before feeling so affected. It disturbs him enough that he climbs into bed for an early night and gives himself affirmations until sleep claims him.

Ryan doesn’t have dreams. He hasn’t had dreams since becoming a demon, and although it’s never been confirmed, he suspects the two might be related. He does, however, have memories. Perhaps because of his recent and jarring vision, his sleep carries him to revisit some of the less pleasant times.

“Good boy,” Gremory says with that disgusting, self-satisfied purr, and Ryan cannot physically embody the level of hate he’s feeling. He feels an inevitable explosion pressing behind his eyeballs and boiling in his veins. “Now fetch.”

The command is accompanied by the smallest of gestures, the slight crooking of one finger, and Ryan is moving before he has time to process the words. He takes the bone tray from Preta and brings it back to where Gremory is smugly seated with his boots up on his desk. 

“Good boy,” Gremory croons again. The backlash of hate that Ryan feels is weaker. Ryan is weaker. Weaker with every loss of his pride to Gremory’s influence. It's discomfiting to be angrier and feel less. “Give it to me.”

“Breaking him in?” Preta asks. He’s staring ravenously at Ryan, and Ryan is incapable of glaring back. 

He lifts the cover of the tray to reveal a lone southwest-ranch Bugle corn chip. It’s for-sure an out-of-body experience, and Ryan distantly watches himself pick up the chip and hold it out to Gremory. As soon as he makes contact with the Bugle, it swells as if taking on water. Ryan’s hand feels warm and Ryan’s emotions feel electrified; he knows that this is no corn chip. Inspiration jolts him.

“Yes,” Gremory answers Preta, and Ryan shoves the Bugle-shaped soul into his mawl. Gremory splutters and coughs the Bugle back out into Ryan’s hand, and Ryan shudders.

It is decayed, discolored, and oozing rot. Ryan immediately drops the chip back onto the platter and slams the cover back on to cover up the stench. It reeks beyond odor, hitting all human and demonic senses with equal decrepitness. He can’t erase the sensation of sludge in his palm, even with no visible trace remaining.

Gremory looks lazily content. Ryan hates his brain for making a comparison to a post-orgasmic haze. 

“You don’t have to actually eat it,” Preta says. His eyes are sharp and still keyed in on Ryan. “Any touch will do.”

“Souls look like food?” Ryan tries his damnedest to avoid looking at Gremory. 

“To those who hunger.” 

“Huh.” Ryan’s eyes flit to Gremory and back to Preta. He wonders what his soul looked like. He wonders what it tasted like. His brief touch of the Bugle had been nice. Really nice. 

“Thank you for the delivery,” Gremory says in a filthily sated voice. The sound makes Ryan remember the feeling of the consumed soul in his palm so vividly that he shakes out his hand. It feels as though the skin in that spot has become forever slimy. 

“I await the return one,” Preta says with glinting eyes. He casts Ryan one more ravenous look before leaving Gremory’s office.

“Okay, what was that about? Why is he staring at me like that?” 

“None of your business,” Gremory says. “It doesn’t involve you.”

“It feels like you’re lying. I dunno, Momma always said, 'Never trust a de--'”

“Stop talking.”

Ryan’s mouth flaps to finish his sentence, but no sound comes out. He settles for scowling fiercely at Gremory. 

“That feeling that you have, from holding a devoured soul, that’s not going to go anywhere. Or at least, not until you touch another soul.” Gremory grins like he’s revealed a brilliant, long-term strategy guaranteeing checkmate. The fucker has no clue who Ryan is. No clue that today has only steeled Ryan’s resolve to be more nuisance than ally. “All it takes is a verbal contract, and it’ll slide right out. Easy as anything.”

Ryan’s mouth moves uselessly, and Gremory, looking entertained, beckons for him to speak. “What’s in it for you?”

“It’s good to be suspicious, sweety.” Gremory’s face relaxes into that fat, happy smile that makes Ryan feel murderously contemptuous. “Whatever benefits you, benefits _ us_.”

From that, Ryan promptly extrapolates that whatever doesn’t benefit him doesn’t benefit Gremory. And yeah, maybe Ryan is operating on pride, but he can find a hell of a lot of pride in resisting something as slothful and entitled as Gremory. 

“The path of least resistance,” Gremory continues, and Ryan twitches at Gremory’s use of a word he was just thinking, “is the path to the greatest possible fulfillment.”

“And what’s that?”

“Complete existence.” Gremory doesn’t elaborate, and Ryan doesn’t ask him to. He’s not about to pry answers from Gremory. It’s not until a few years later, seeing a spiritual temper tantrum go down before an oblivious BuzzFeed Unsolved crew actively searching for ghosts, that he fully grasps the terribleness of a partial existence. 

As soon as Ryan is released from Gremory’s office, he goes to the kitchen sink and scrubs his hand. The soap glides right over the intangible slime of the decayed soul, and Ryan is oblivious to the increasing heat of the water until his hands are blistered and red.

There are some things that can never be cleaned.

There are some things that are worth never being clean. 

Still deep in the throws of a dreadful sleep, Ryan sets his jaw in determination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoohooohoo! Did someone say flashback-exposition-poorly-disguised-as-a-dream?
> 
> Oh, it was me? Yeah, that sounds about right.
> 
> A bit of trivia that will be embedded in a later chapter for any currently curious reader:  
Demons live in both the physical and spectral plane, but souls are intended to reside in the physical, in bodies. Soul transport requires a demon courier. As soon as a demon touches a soul, it starts consuming it. So demons making deals or trading souls with each other use the bones of a deceased demon to transport the soul.


	11. Power House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it feels like there's a new equilibrium established that Ryan can manage. What he can't manage to handle is people showing favoritism to Shane at his own freaking pity party. Not cool.

“Do you _ want _to get hammered?” Curly demands, and Ryan catches sight of Shane flapping hands in a broadly shushing motion out of the corner of his eye.

Ryan may be a demon, but he’s also functioning in a human body. He’s advertised himself as a lightweight since college so he can maintain at least some control. The stages of drinking are familiar and easy: first talking loudly and smiling incessantly, then constantly looking around the room and being noticeably forgetful, followed by giggling and arm slinging, and ending with lamentable dance moves until it’s time to split. 

“Maybe just a couple of rounds,” Ryan says, spinning his desk chair to fully face Curly and rocking a splayed hand side to side. “I don’t want to be useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Shane calls from his desk.

Curly rolls his eyes. “You’re invited too, Madej.”

“I don’t know if the devil’s brew is optimal.”

“Did you...devil’s brew?” Ryan splutters. Damn, it’s easy to volley with Shane. Most of Ryan’s schtick is just repeating Shane’s words back at him. “Optimal? What’re you, a prohibition-era church lady?”

“What of it?” Shane demands with a comically ferocious chin jut.

“Ladies, ladies, please,” Curly sings. “Get it together. Yes or no by the end of the day, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Ryan says with a dab of sass. He takes a more sincere tone when he adds, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course,” Curly says. “Whatever you need.”

Ever since Ryan first got back to the office, and even during the awkward chemistry following the entire overseeing-a-demon-deal incident, Shane has been, for the lack of a better word, Ryan’s handler. Ryan’s kinda embarrassed that it took him a week and half to notice, but in his defense, he’s been preoccupied with more important things. 

Now that Shane has relaxed his glares, chair-rolling body blocks, and defensive conversation-leading, Ryan is getting a fairly steady stream of coworkers checking in on him. It’s annoying to have to repeat the same conversation over and over again, but hot damn, what an ego trip that everyone wants to say something. 

“I don’t think getting wasted is a good idea,” Shane says bluntly as soon as Curly’s out of earshot. “There’s a very possible risk of you having a breakdown.”

“I thought I was a fun drunk,” Ryan pouts. “Besides, I don’t need to get wasted. Just loosen the metaphorical tie, you know?”

“It could get messy. You’re a public figure, and…” Shane trails off. He doesn’t need to finish; Ryan knows exactly what he’s worried about. Ryan carefully cultivates his social media to establish his public persona, and all it takes is one night out and some strangers’ cell phone videos of a local celebrity to cast him in a different light for their thousands of viewers. It’s kinda sweet that Shane is worrying about something that Ryan cares about. Either that or gross. Honestly, there's a lot of overlap and it’s difficult for a demon to differentiate the two.

“You don’t have to come if you’re scared I’m going to cry on you,” Ryan says just to watch Shane’s face go sour. 

“You know it’s not that.” Shane looks more pained than irritated, but eh, Ryan will take what he can get. “I don’t want you to regret anything. Or be outside of your comfort zone.”

“Hanging with friends is outside of my comfort zone?”

Ryan can see Shane biting back a sarcastic answer. He can practically taste the bitterness from Ryan systematically turning down hangout opportunities over the past week. Shane swallows, recomports himself, and says in a surprisingly level tone, “You don’t have to act like it’s okay.”

“Maybe I want to act like it’s okay,” Ryan retorts.

Shane looks at him hard. “Do you?”

The significance of Shane’s look is heavy enough that Ryan cards through his memory to try and find some context. He vaguely recalls talking about not wanting to be around people and Shane offering to leave in the early morning after Helen’s death. If Shane’s holding onto those words, his territorialness around Ryan in the office suddenly makes a lot more sense. It also emphasizes how much weight Ryan has over Shane, and how cautious he has to be.

“I want to feel normal,” Ryan says carefully. “I want to do something normal.”

“We can do normal, bud.” Shane rolls over until his knees are bumping into the arm of Ryan’s chair. “I mean, ultimately, it’s your call.”

“You free tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Shane answers without hesitation, without even taking time to think about it. Ryan has him so whipped. He gives Shane one of those innocent look-up-from-under-his-hair faces. “I’d like to go then.”

“Yeah,” Shane rasps. “Then let’s go.” He backpedals to his desk. “We can do that.”

“Thanks.”

Shane gives him a curt nod before turning firmly back to his monitor. Ryan texts Curly a confirmation.

It’s all-in-all a productive day: Ryan has finished the rough edits of the Callum Castle episode and evidence review, he’s set their release date schedule for the start of the next True Crime series, and he got the newest intern sorted on how to fix the copier (ensuring said intern’s loyalty to Ryan for the remainder of his internship). When five o’clock hits, Ryan rolls his shoulders and logs off the computer.

“You’re ready, huh?” Shane says, promptly following suit.

“Hell yeah.” Ryan shrugs on his sweatshirt and fiddles with his shirt sleeves so they don’t get stuck and wrinkled underneath. “It’s Party Boys o’clock.” 

Shane makes a big deal of checking the time on his watchless wrist. “So it is! You going as is?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He’s got his nice jeans and a casually whimsical button-up, and that’s essentially his bar-faring outfit of choice. All he needs to do is undo the top two buttons. “You?”

Shane shrugs a non-answer. “Let’s roll, ba-by! Where we going?”

“Power House.”

It’s not by any means the closest bar, but the alcohol is reasonable and the atmosphere is vibrant. It’s an easy place to have fun. Shane’ll get a kick out of the jukebox and chill out enough to get off of Ryan’s dick. The biggest plus, of course, is that it’s a fairly popular spot with the tourists, and Ryan usually catches an enamored gaggle of fan girls staring moon-eyed across the bar. 

They split an Uber over to the bar because they’re definitely not going to be driving themselves home tonight. Shane is twitchy and overflowing with some maniac false positive energy that Ryan’s not planning on addressing. He’s laughing a little too easy and a little too loud at Ryan's terrible jokes, but Ryan reckons Shane will settle down once he’s got alcohol in his hands.

“Curly’ll meet us at the bar,” Ryan informs Shane.

“Huh?” Shane hunches down a little and focuses on Ryan’s mouth, but Ryan doesn’t feel like repeating himself. He yanks Shane towards the bar with a fistful of Shane’s sweater. Shane’s weight is on the wrong foot and he wobbles for a moment before following Ryan’s lead.

“Easy, boy,” Ryan says, as if Shane’s a spooked horse and as if Ryan knows how to calm one. “Steady.”

“Hey, Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Shane says pleasantly. 

Ryan hams up an innocent, shocked gasp, and Shane smiles sweetly back. He’s already being much less high-strung. It feels like a good omen for how tonight will play out. 

It’s a half hour of banter and shooting popcorn into each others’ mouths before Curly finally turns up. 

“Curly!” Ryan shouts, beaming from ear to ear. 

“You clean up nice,” Shane says.

Curly runs a bejeweled hand through his hair and a little cloud of glitter poofs out. “I know, boy. You’re wearing a sweater? You crazy motherfucker.”

“Shane’s the dad tonight,” Ryan cackles. 

“And I’m the teenager. Do you see this zit? I’m not fit for public consumption. That makes you the mom, Ryry.”

Ryan works pretty hard at presenting as a bro, and he takes substantial offense at Curly’s smirking comment. His mouth opens, but before he can formulate a response, Shane cuts in.

“Wow. How heteronormative of you, Curly.” He sounds mildly disappointed, but it could also just be Shane playing for a laugh.

“Trying to blend in with the straights,” Curly retorts. “Is it working?” He bats his lashes as he does a little shimmy, causing the neckline of his pink floral blouse to fall and bare a shoulder. 

Shane gives Curly a head-to-toe lookover. “Sure,” he says dryly. “Although I admittedly am not an expert.” Curly pats Shane’s arm and leans on him slightly as he addresses Ryan.

“Ryan? You gonna weigh in, sweetie?”

“You look fabulous,” Ryan says . That’s always a safe answer with Curly. 

Curly predictably responds with a, “Bitch, don’t you know!” before enthusiastically commandeering the bartender’s attention. Ryan can’t help but noticing the little squeeze Curly gives Shane before relinquishing his arm. It floods him instantly with bitterness. Shane is likeable and all, but he has a lowkey standoffish vibe. Ryan and Curly are much closer than Shane and Curly. They have the whole minority-in-America thing going, and Shane doesn’t get in on that. But that little squeeze means something between Shane and Curly, and Ryan’s not okay with being left out. 

Ryan accidentally-on-purpose bumps into Curly as he presses forward to order another drink. Curly taps the back of Ryan’s hand gently, and Ryan is befuddled as to how distant the touch feels compared to the one between Curly and Shane. He feels a little bit like he’s losing, and it’s not a feeling that sits well with him in the slightest. But one-drink Ryan is overly happy, so he keeps his shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Thanks for inviting me out!” Ryan says.

“Of course,” Curly says. “You know I’m looking for an excuse. But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about us having fun.” He tugs Shane in with a way too casual arm around the waist. He’s still just patting the top of Ryan’s hand, and a little blinking scoreboard in the back of Ryan’s brain is keeping vivid track of each moment giving Shane a lead in the competition of who Curly likes more. “That means no work talk, ghoulfriends.” He pulls his arms free and gives the both of them elbow nudges before leaning onto the bar to accept his sangria. 

Ryan waits impatiently for his Manhattan while Shane pulls at the label of the bottle he’s been nursing for the last thirty minutes. Ryan is willing to bet that it’s all warm and gross by now. 

Curly takes a long draw of his sangria and smacks his lips. “Damn, that’s good. Alright, boys; what dusty ditch are you headed to next trying to get Casper on camera?”

"What happened to not talking about work?"

Curly waves away Ryan's words."Come on, spill."

“You know I don’t talk about locations going in,” Ryan says. 

“I’m a run-of-the-mill tabula rasa going into these places,” Shane says. “No details until we’re headed out, and even then the ol’ info well over here is running dry until we arrive.”

“So stressful.” Curly takes another exuberant slurp of sangria. “I love you Ryan, but I swear I would never be able to get whisked off to unspecified murder sites.”

“It’s nice,” Shane insists vehemently. “Well, not nice. But it’s nothing strenuous. The worst of it is talking this guy down from his imagination.” He gives Ryan a fond little smile that Ryan does not return. Ooooh, he’d love for Shane to just once see the spectrals, to witness the filthy spiritual imprint of fading, hateful demons, to know the harm attempted towards him. He knows if Shane ever were to actually see any of that, everything would be long past fucked up and irredeemable, but it’s nice to fantasize about Shane’s little scientific brain crumbling under the weight of a newly understood reality. 

Instead of sharing any of those thoughts, Ryan opts to invite Curly to join them on an episode. Curly howls with laughter.

“Boy, you’re crazy. Your fans couldn’t handle this.” Curly runs a hand down his chest.

“They’d love you!” Shane insists.

“They love a bromance between a slice of Wonderbread and the token diversity frat boy.”

“Actually, I was never in a frat,” Ryan protests.

“Uh-huh,” Curly says. 

“I wasn’t!”

“You _ scream _frat boy.”

“I bet he frequented his fair share of parties,” Shane says. He’s staring contemplatively at Ryan when he takes a quick sip of his Sam Adams. “But he was looking for a balance of movie nights and conspiracy theorists. Not exactly rife in frat life.”

Ryan’s not sure how he feels about Shane talking about Ryan in the third person when Ryan is literally right here. It feels rude, but it’s also kinda nice to get a peek into Shane’s perspective on Ryan. 

Shane levels a sober look towards Ryan. “How’d I do?”

“Got it in one,” Ryan confirms. “What were we talking about?”

“About Curly coming on the show,” Shane says. “What are you, Curly?”

“Huh?” 

“Yeah!” Ryan turns his body to fully face Curly. “You’re a Bergara, right?”

“Boogara,” Shane corrects automatically.

Ryan waves a hand at Shane and amends, “You’re a Boogara, right? Of course you’re a Boogara.” The question is unfair, a stand-in for the question he really wants to ask.

“Oh, I’m for sure a believer.” 

It’s not the answer Ryan’s looking for, but he nonetheless counts it as a point in his favor. 

“That’s why I love having Shane around,” Curly continues, and Ryan stomach lurches. “The show would be too scary to watch without this doofus rambling about squeaking shoes and strong wind.”

Now that’s the sort of comment that Ryan can appreciate. It’s not a Shane-versus-Ryan thing, it’s a what-make-the-show-great thing, and Ryan orchestrated all of that. His mood immediately brightens right the fuck back up. 

“We could do a trip to El Salvador!”

“Not a great time, actually,” Curly says. “Like, there’s a reason my family moved here.”

“Ryan’s just trying to get a travel budget.” 

“We could do a story about a Central American supernatural being!” 

“There’s plenty of Latinx culture to examine stateside.”

“It sounds like you’re saying yes,” Shane crows. “I think we hooked ourselves another ghoul boy, Ryan. We got ‘em!”

“No takebacks!” Ryan says.

“Oh my god, tell me this isn’t happening. I’m not sure if it’s my worst nightmare or a dream come true.”

“Well, both of those require sleeping, and this guy has a strict no-sleeping policy on location.”

Ryan ignores Shane’s shittalking as he attempts to surreptitiously eyeball a pair of slack-jawed young women gawking from a table near the bathrooms. 

“No way am I sleeping in a haunted place. I’m not going into my most vulnerable state in a place that, best case scenario, has bad vibes and dusty air.”

“Doesn’t have to be a sleepover. We don’t always sleep on location,” Ryan says absently. The ladies are definitely staring in their direction. The steady drip of fulfillment at being in the center of their attention has him electrified in anticipation. He wants more attention. He needs more attention. 

It is entirely one thing to go to an event that people pay to attend, and it’s entirely another thing to have people in the wilds of LA recognize him. It’s easy to have a niche audience on the internet; it means something when random strangers know Ryan and love his work. Ryan tries to open up his body language and hopes one of them works up the courage to approach. He’s craving to know what level of fangirl they are.

“I’m not a certified ghost-Spanish translator,” Curly laughs. 

“That’s not a thing because ghosts aren’t real.”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says reflexively. 

Shane sways his lumpy, besweatered self into Ryan’s line of vision. Ryan grits his teeth in his best approximation of a not-at-all-annoyed smile. 

“You still with us, tiger?”

Humans are confusing, and Ryan is damn near tipsy, so it takes him a particularly long moment to figure out what Shane’s thinking. “I’m not looking for a hook-up,” he hisses indignantly. That is so not on brand. 

“You look like you’re out for lunch.” Shane shrugs unapologetically. He ignores Ryan’s protest.

“I hate it when my parents fight,” Curly tells the cherry in his sangria. 

“We still love you,” Shane assures him. 

“Yeah, Curly!” Ryan agrees. He swings an arm up, up, up and around Shane’s shoulders. Shane’s all hunched down but nonetheless too tall for Ryan to rest his arm on. He feels a muscle pulling uncomfortably in his armpit, and his arm is sitting heavier than he intended. It’s awkward and disjointed and Ryan hates it but would rather suffer in the moment than look like he regretted the move. 

“I literally cannot hear that enough,” Curly says. Shane’s face--which Ryan can’t avoid looking at because his whole freaking body is currently angled up and towards Shane--goes tender and his scrawny little shoulders broaden. 

“We love ya!” Shane says emphatically. He rocks a little on his stool, further stretching Ryan’s arm. Ryan fumes internally that things have gotten so out of hand that Shane seems more concerned with Curly than Ryan. What the hell is going on? He’s also finding it incredibly distasteful how poorly they fit together.

Ryan uses his position to peek at the young women again before sliding his arm down. They’re talking ecstatically and one of them has been reduced to fangirl flailing. He rolls his shoulder in a partially successful attempt to get his arm realigned in the socket. “You know we’re in your corner. We’ve got your back.”

“Aw, thanks." Curly beams into his glass.

Ryan slurps down the last of his Manhattan and calls in for a pint on draft. Mixing alcohol can get yucky, but he’s anticipating the fans approaching soon and a pint looks a lot more chill and photogenic than a whisky glass. 

It takes another five minutes before the fans make an appearance. Ryan distracts Shane before Shane can head them off, and then they’re practically falling over themselves heaping praise on the show and how funny Shane is but, oh my god, how he’s going to get himself and poor Ryan murked one of these days and they’d prefer if that didn’t happen and will they sign their drink napkins please?

Ryan laps up every compliment and slightly inebriated giggle. Satisfaction and a sense of all-is-well overflows from his spectral being and manifests in his physical body with dopamine releases and elevated heart rate and apparently the inability not to smile like a cartoon character. He’s burning with something more thrilling than joy. 

One day, Ryan’s physical form will stop functioning, and Ryan will be stranded, slowly weakening towards inevitable inexistence and unable to reach any sort of fulfillment. One day, Ryan will be a desperate, belligerent, hateful specter screaming for any sort of impact on the material world. But tonight, that day seems like a distant, hazy outline of an improbable nightmare. Even after the women leave, napkins clutched to their chests like irreplaceable valuables, Ryan thrums with the sense that all is perfect. He is known. He is successful. He is adored.

Ryan dives full-heartedly into terrible dance moves around the jukebox in attempt to hide his overt elation. Shane and Curly follow his lead, no questions asked, until they’re all out of breath and Shane lets them know that there’s an Uber ready to get them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
Last week, the chapter wasn't ready: dialogue was clunky, the nuances I wanted to slide in on the downlow were too obvious, and every non-dialogue line felt like exposition. It was rough, fam. 
> 
> I've prewritten four of the next nine chapters, so if I don't freeze up writer-stylz, I'm keeping with the Sunday updates. However, fair warning, life just got hella busy (like two full-time jobs on top of classes busy), so there's a distinct possibility that there will be a couple more misses before the story is complete.
> 
> I always love the feedback and hope you're enjoying the story!


	12. The Long Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Disassociation / rape prep
> 
> We're approaching the peak of that conflict mountain, guys, and it's getting heavy. Both this chapter and the next contain a character expecting to get raped and disassociating. If that sounds triggering, please do not read! At the beginning of Chapter 14, there will be a summary of Chapters 12 and 13 that will keep you on track with the remainder of the story.

No, not here, not now.

Ryan stares blankly down the pew at Shane and Sara as they shuffle their way over. What the hell are they doing?

Shane fucking waves. 

“Hey, Ryan,” Sara says. She crawls over Ryan’s legs so she and Shane flank him on the bench. It’s undoubtedly meant to be supportive. It’s such an inconvenience.

“You didn’t have to come,” Ryan says, which is pretty close to what he actually means. _ You shouldn’t have come _. 

“We wanted to,” Sara says.

This is the part where Ryan is supposed to say, “Thanks for coming!” and act like he appreciates the reigning BuzzFeed power couple deigning to attend the funeral of his girlfriend. Ryan considers himself a pretty good actor--it’s either that or regularly taint his audience with demonic influence--so he gives it his best shot.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles with a little head nod. 

Sara pats his knee and bumps the top of her head into his cheek. Ryan’s not sure what the proper response is, so he goes for the brief ol’ strained smile. It’s been his failsafe move ever since the hit and run.

“We’re here for ya, bud,” Shane says somberly. He bumps his bicep into Ryan’s shoulder. 

Having Shane this close isn’t great because it gets Ryan thinking about things he’d rather not think about. The day after tomorrow, they’ll have an early start so they can drive out to Central American University to examine the Zeta Phi Tau frathouse under Todd’s overly friendly eye. Ryan’s pleased to get the location, but he’s not satisfied with his contract with Todd. He doesn’t fully know what to expect, and the sense of the unknown nags at him.

He should have had made the contract terms clearer, but it had been hard to manage proper negotiations while Shane was conked out in Ryan’s bedroom with possible head injury and an undetermined amount of eavesdropped knowledge. Todd is definitely wily, but then again, that’s sort of a given when making a deal with a demon. The big question is exactly what Todd is planning on getting by “owning” Ryan. 

The best Ryan can tell, Todd is running on lust. So that probably means butt stuff, maybe something oral. It’s such a primitive motivation, nothing as nuanced and sophisticated as pride. Ryan’s not a prude, and sex doesn’t have much meaning or import in his life other than the vague need to be awesome at it, which has resulted into numerous wikihow spirals. 

Butt sex is different. There’s a good amount of things that could go wrong if Ryan is penetrated, and although he’s been trying to prepare in these last few days before the trip, he’s still struggling with a 1” plug. He’s got some numbing cream in his bag for the trip back so that he can handle the ride home. If it’s really bad, he’ll shove Shane in the backseat with the camera equipment and claim a row to lie down in. It’s Shane’s fucking fault that Ryan has to take such drastic measures to keep him safe. If Shane didn’t constantly offer up his soul for grabs during investigations, Ryan wouldn’t have to go making preemptive moves to keep his lanky ass protected. At the same time, the internet is definitely charmed by Shane’s brash skepticism, and it’s a critical component to the show’s success.

None of these thoughts--not the impending investigation, Shane’s oblivious stupidity, and certainly not the likely buttfuckery--are helping Ryan focus on looking appropriately sorrowful at his girlfriend’s funeral. His preparations for the funeral had been to watch somberly and stiffly drop a few tears during the eulogy, but now he has an attentive little two-person audience focused on him. He has to balance looking sorrowful for Shane and Sara with not overplaying his hand in front of Helen’s family.

Ryan stares at his funeral program. The photo on the front is from last Christmas and is Helen’s current Instagram profile pic. She’s doing that trick where her mouth is serene but her eyes are beaming. It’s an expression that Ryan has never been able to master. It doesn’t fit with how he presents himself. It’s too subdued. That’s what made them a great couple though: she was a great foil, loyal and supportive, not too demanding, and always ready to present a good image. It’s a pity Gremory finagled her life away.

Ryan doesn’t do regret. It’s not helpful in achieving whatever’s next. But he does take a moment to wonder as the family processes into the church and the mourners stand in solidarity. Was Helen the best possible match? Had she vanished before her prime use in Ryan’s life? Had Ryan complied with Gremory’s demand for a soul, would she have been spared, or would she simply be another piece that Gremory used to manipulate Ryan and vanished the next time Ryan failed to comply?

Fuck Gremory. Like Ryan would ever comply beyond what he’s force to comply to. Gremory’s a leech, and Ryan would rather lose all control and rebuild everything from scratch than help that lazy SOB get an ounce of fulfillment. 

Thinking about how repulsive Gremory is is familiar grounds and an easy distraction from that upcoming Shane-related chore. Aw, shit, now Ryan’s thinking about the contract with Todd again.

Sara brushes her hand against Ryan’s as they sit down. She keeps her palm open and facing towards him. Ryan’s not about to grab his friend’s girlfriend’s hand while he’s at the funeral for his own girlfriend. That would surely look bad. 

Shane is a warm, towering skyscraper on Ryan’s left. He’s sitting much closer than usual, definitely closer than bro code bylaws would permit, and staring with placid intensity at the minister. Ryan considers taking offense at Shane apparently ignoring Ryan, but a quick twitch of Shane’s eyes to Ryan’s assuages his ego.

Ryan sniffles experimentally, and Shane immediately pulls out an entire box of tissues like a low-budget magician and flourishes the top tissue on his knee. Sara runs her fingers over the top of Ryan’s right hand before resting her hands in her lap and scooching up tight next to Ryan.

Shane and Sara are a nice two-for-one deal. Their balance is much more chaotic and dynamic than Ryan and Helen’s relationship. Probably, Ryan theorizes, because both of them are the weird one in the relationship. They’re constantly alternating who’s keeping the other in check, and the majority of the time, they don’t even bother to check each other at all. Sara will do practically anything for Shane, and Shane will do practically anything for Ryan, and really, Ryan’s got no complaints other than the uninvited appearances that Shane insists on keeping up.

Damn it, Ryan’s thinking about that freaking contract again. 

Ryan tries not to wiggle and grabs a tissue to hide his face. This funeral is taking forever, and he wants more than anything to go home and review his packing for the trip, pour over the script, and check his notes on the historical details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so Ryan-internal-monologue heavy. There'll be more dialogue and action next chapter!


	13. A Matter of Interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: disassociation, mental preparation for rape, sexual assault, character death, violence
> 
> This is a whammy of a chapter, but I didn't want there to be any break in this part of the story. There are some world-building details that are embedded in this chapter that you need in order to understand the end of the chapter. Look at the end of chapter notes if you want to make sure you can follow the action.
> 
> Chapter 14 will start with a summary of 12 and 13. Some really not great stuff happens in this chapter, so feel free to pick up with the story next chapter!

“Easy, boy,” Shane says. He ruffles Ryan’s hair, and Ryan slaps him away without looking away from the window. “Hey, Ryan. I promise nothing is going to hurt you here.”

Ryan scowls at Shane. It’s all very well and easy for the loudmouth to taunt demons when it’s Ryan working overtime to make him demonproof. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He just needs to get his part of the deal out of the way, and then he’ll be able to relax a little.

“I promise,” Shane says. He’s got that lighthearted-but-somber timber that makes it hard to tell whether or not he’s being serious. “Not a single iota of harm.”

“Your promises mean nothing,” Ryan informs him. “We all know you’re looking for an opportunity to do-si-do with a demon.” There’s also quite literally nothing that Shane can do against a demon. It’s impossible, after all, to fight something you don’t believe in.

Ryan is planning on having solo investigations as early on as possible. He’ll have to make sure that the camera shorts out because, yeah, he’s proud of his body, but no, he’s not interested in having footage of himself getting plowed by a total douchebag of a demon. 

It doesn’t seem real when Shane is next to him doing some weird sedentary jig with his limbs flailing every which way. Part of Ryan loathes him for not taking this seriously enough, but it’s honestly nice to have a bit of a distraction. At least, it would be a distraction if Ryan could stop remembering what he’s getting distracted from. 

“That porch,” Shane gushes with a French chef kiss. “Gotta love that 60’s architecture.” 

Ryan forlornly watches as the SUV eats up the dwindling stretch of driveway leading to the bottom of the steps. “Yeah, we’ll have to see if we can get the fraternity to give us the deets on their sweet, sweet ‘chitecture.”

“I would have dressed appropriately for this episode if I’d known.”

“Yeah? In what?”

“Plaid trousers,” Shane responds immediately. “They don’t get out much because they’re a show-stopper.”

“You trying to stop my show?” Ryan says with fake indignation.

“In like, a fun, record-scratch way to hook the viewers,” Shane says. He does jazz hands as he reaches over Ryan to pull the door open. “Let’s roll!”

Anticipation sours in Ryan’s stomach as he climbs the porch stairs. Just as he reaches the top step, the door flings open and Todd beams down at them.

“Hey man, glad you made it,” Todd says. 

“It’s you?!” Shane says, and how the hell did Ryan not anticipate this? Shane’s already seen Todd; of course he’s going to recognize him.

“This is Shane,” Ryan stutters. Shit, this is not the time for his brain to freeze up.

“Hey, Shane,” Todd says, offering a hand. Shane accepts the handshake with a perplexed frown crinkling his entire face as he pingpongs his gaze between Todd and Ryan. 

“So how did you two meet?” Shane eventually asks. 

“You’ll have to ask Ryan,” Todd smirks. “He called me.”

Ryan glowers at Todd. Shane won’t pick up on it because he’s obtuse to the double meaning, but Todd had better cut that shit out before they get to recording because Ryan’s not interested on any fan theories developing with any resemblance to the truth.

“Todd has had some supernatural experiences,” Ryan says, and he’s kinda cracking himself up because he never expected to say anything remotely related to the truth where Todd’s involved. “I first contacted the president, and Brendon referred me to Todd.” That part is also true. It’s just that Blackout Brendon had no clue that Todd _is_ the supernatural experience. 

“Oh,” Shane says with the zest of a live-time epiphany. “And Ryan wanted some supernatural expertise, so--”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly,” Ryan interrupts. He isn’t going to give Todd any room to poke holes into Shane’s theory that Ryan had been doing sketchy black magic shit in attempts to contact Helen. “Let’s get set up. I want to start filming at dusk.”

“Right,” Shane says teasingly. “Because the ghosties are scared of the daylight.” Ryan can sense the accompanying eye roll happening behind his back. 

“They are more active at night,” Ryan snaps insistently. 

Shane hums sarcastic agreement and Ryan makes a concerted effort to ignore the sheer disrespect pouring from his buffoon of a co-star. “I was looking at the floor plan, and I think it’d be a cool shot to have us in the hallway with the stairs ascending on one side and the basement door on the other.”

“It’s your show, dude,” Todd shrugs. Ryan hates how nonchalant he’s acting. “That’s just a plain old white hallway though.”

Not only is the hallway completely nondescript, the audio picks up a weird echo from the tight space and old hardwood floors that ensures that Ryan has to nix the location for quality control reasons. They end up setting up in the living room, which is much less cool structurally but at least has Zeta Phi Tau paraphernalia plastering the walls. 

“You must feel right at home here,” Shane says.

Ryan’s blood runs cold. “Why’s that?” he scoffs, fumbling his script. Shane is always a blithering idiot, but there’s always the distinct possibility that he’s pieced together enough details to hazard a guess about Ryan and Todd being demons.

“I don’t know, bro,” Shane says in his fratboy voice. It’s an exaggerated, blundering voice that Ryan privately feels is what Shane would sound like if his voice matched his personality. “You telling me that the Bergmeister didn’t pound a few kegs back in his day?”

Ryan scoffs to hide his relief. He needs to stop being so paranoid about getting found out. It’s a waste of energy, especially given how devoted Shane is to being a skeptic. He’s just been feeling really off his game this week. “Are you saying you’ve never been to a frat house?”

Shane shrugs a non-answer. “Probably fewer than you.”

“You mean the Columbia College party crowd wasn’t thirsting for beanpole nerds?”

“Honestly, are any college party crowds thirsting for beanpole nerds?”

“You make a good point, sir,” Ryan concedes. The tone is negative enough that he throws in a conciliatory, “To be fair, the Chapman party crowds weren’t hunting for perfectly-average-heighted-film-major nerds.”

Shane crinkles a smile. “No need to lie, DJ Dead Body. We all know you lived a party life.”

“Oh, wow, Dead Body,” Ryan wheezes. “That’s a deep cut.”

Devon makes a swooping motion to indicate their location, and Ryan pulls the conversation back on track.

“Anyways, this week on BuzzFeed Unsolved, we investigate the Zeta Phi Tau house on the edge of Central American University as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real.”

“Yeah, that’s a definite no,” Shane says. “Case solved.”

“What?” Ryan splutters. “No. We haven’t even looked around!”

“I can guarantee you this is going to be just like every other creaky old building we’ve visited.”

“Are you done?”

“Yeah. Just had to get that off my chest.”

“Good. Now you can shut the fuck up.”

“Wow. Rude. It just goes to show: you can take the boy out of a frat, but you can’t take the frat out of a boy.”

“What are you even saying right now?”

“Honestly? No idea.”

“Well this has been a total waste of time.”

Shane wheezes. “I guess it has.”

“Zeta Phi Tau was founded at CAU in 1946 and, by 1950, had four chapters throughout the state. It is characteristic for Greek societies to use secret ritual ceremonies, but it is believed that the original initiation rituals of Zeta Phi Tau included several Satanic elements.”

“What?” Shane snorts. “How does that even happen?”

“Maybe it was a rushed deadline with some copy and paste ritual shit." Ryan cackles.

“You think they were like, ‘Ohhhh, we gotta have some weird initiation stuff, but the other fraternities won’t tell us what they do’?”

Ryan laughs at Shane’s nasally bro voice. It’s a blend of his usual derpy character voice with a calmer, slower cadence. 

“‘Ohhhhh, wait, I know! There’s some rituals in this book!’” Shane brandishes a nonexistent book at Ryan.

“‘That book?’” Ryan says, joining in with his best attempt at mimicking Shane’s voice and pointing at Shane’s imaginary book. “‘I don’t know, man. It’s got the literal devil on it.’”

“‘Yeah, okay, but like, otherwise, we’re gonna have to make our own.’”

“‘Oh, damn. Well, okay.’”

“‘Okay then!’” Shane leans back in his chair and returns to his regular voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s how it went down.”

“I mean, we’ll never know-”

“Pretty sure,” Shane says with a touch of assertiveness.

“Jesus, okay,” Ryan laughs. “If you say so.” He gives the microphone a beat of silence to make sure there’s clear audio for any future edits before continuing with his script. “This house was purchased by Zeta Phi Tau in 1952, the same year that the fraternity came under legal scrutiny for multiple cases of sexual assault.”

Shane pulls a disgusted face. “What was discipline, a slap on the wrist?”

“All branches except the original were banned,” Ryan says. “I’d also like to take this moment to make clear that Satanism was still over a decade away from being made an official religion and doesn’t promote sexual assault.”

“Are you promoting Satanism?” 

“I’m just covering my bases!” 

“Sure you are.”

“Anyway,” Ryan continues with an eye roll that causes him substantial ocular strain, “Zeta Phi Tau membership fell down to a mere twenty members, which is the qualifying number of members to be in a fraternity. They recruited hard, and despite the overwhelmingly negative public opinion of the group, by 1956, they had reached a sixty-person membership.”

“All at Central American?”

“All at Central American,” Ryan confirms. “The fraternity became exclusive to CAU, refusing to open chapters at other universities.”

“Did they change up their act?”

“There were no further charges held against fraternity brothers,” Ryan says.

“I don’t like how you said that. Does that mean the assaults continued?”

Ryan looks past the camera to Todd lurking next to Devon, smiling lazily back over the brim of a red solo cup. “That’s unknown. There are multiple stories of people--particularly women--getting, well, really horny here, and then acting out of character.”

“Like an aphrodisiac?” 

Ryan locks eyes with Todd. “Like a possession.”

Shane does an annoyed little huff of air. “This is serious, Ryan. Don’t be pulling ghosts into assault. Did they do something to these women?”

Ryan can’t look away from Todd. He thinks if either he or Todd blinked, he’d be able to break eye contact, but he’s currently paralyzed. “Nothing that they didn’t consent to.”

Shane shoves Ryan, and Ryan glares at him. 

“What?” Ryan says, a little sharper than usual.

“Manipulated consent isn’t consent,” Shane says emphatically. Ryan bristles. The comment is hitting him a little too personally. “Were they of sound mind? Were they coerced?”

“It’s not cle-”

“Fuck this fraternity,” Shane says firmly. “Fuck this house.” Todd snorts into his cup.

“Okay. Are you going to let me get into the incidences?”

Shane pulls a tuft of his hair. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says primly. He manages to get through two women’s accounts and one man’s account of relationships ruined via unintentional cheating at the Zeta Phi Tau house with minimal interruptions from Shane. When he mentions Chester Hardy’s mental breakdown and assertion that the house has a demon infestation, Shane sighs and slouches further in his chair.

“What?” Ryan demands.

“This is your demon house?” Shane says. “You went with a sex demon house?”

“We haven’t done one of those before,” Ryan retorts. “Why, you scared?”

“Of what?” Shane snorts. “I think I’ll be safe from this chauvinistic pigsty. No offense, Todd.”

Todd creases a cold smile back. “None taken, bro.”

“Todd is a member of Zeta Phi Tau. He’s here to give us a tour of the house and give us an inside peek into how Zeta Phi Tau views its history.”

Todd sweeps forward onto the camera and shakes both of their hands. “You ready?”

“No time like the present,” Shane says. “Lead the way!”

Ryan would actually appreciate a moment to still the sudden turmoil in his gut. Being on camera and bantering with Shane was familiar territory and it was easy to forget his anxiety with the upcoming deal. But now, they’re up to the part where Todd is opening and closing doors, and soon, Ryan and Todd are going to be behind one of those closed doors. 

Ryan squares his jaw and pushes to his feet. He can do this. It’s just five to ten minutes of physical discomfort and potentially a couple of days of soreness, and then he has Todd fucking Turpitude’s home in his BuzzFeed resume. 

“Let’s start upstairs and work our way down,” Todd says. Ryan thinks he might be aiming for a seductive voice. It sticks in Ryan’s ears like honey, weighing more than mere words and ringing in his mind.

“Sounds great,” Devon says. She runs up the stairs first so they can get some stair-ascending shots. Ryan somehow ends up between Todd and Shane in the line-up. He’s not interested in being particularly close to Todd, and he’s not feeling particularly defensive of Shane. He knows how to protect his assets. Todd is to do no harm to Shane; Ryan was very clear with his demands in the contract. 

“So are you in a position of leadership?” Shane asks. He’s already huffing after a few steps. 

“No, nothing like that,” Todd says. “But I have seen some shit.”

“Yeah?” Shane says encouragingly.

“Yeah.”

“Like what?” Ryan asks. 

“I’ll show you,” Todd says. He marches past Devon and into the second bedroom on the left. “This is my room.”

Devon pans the camera across the room before refocusing on Todd. “I want you to notice how the door latches.” He shuts the door and, in the ensuing silence, the click of the door catching seems loud. “It’s pretty firmly in there, right?”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. He wiggles the doorknob. “It’s shut.”

“Exactly,” Todd says. Shane gives Ryan a quick look that effectively communicates Shane’s assessment of Todd’s sanity. “But sometimes at night, I’ll hear footsteps, and then the door opens right up.”

“Interesting,” Shane says in a voice that says he's finding it not-at-all interesting. “It’s not a prank from one of the other--”

“No,” Todd interrupts. “It’s not.”

“So your demon friend doesn’t appreciate your privacy?” Shane asks. “That's rather rude of him.”

Ryan laughs before he can catch himself. Shane is so mindbogglingly idiotic, and Ryan can’t compile any other reaction. “I can’t imagine a demon being polite.”

“No,” Todd agrees. He’s smiling, but Ryan has the distinct impression that he’s finding something other than Shane’s stupid humor amusing. “I think demons just take what they want.”

“And this demon is looking for action?” Shane’s mirth has faded entirely. He’s giving Todd a hard stare. Ryan wishes Shane were less overt with his speculations. He can practically hear Shane saying, “Sometimes the monsters are men. Scooby Doo taught us that.”

Ryan has prepared some phony questions to give Todd. He reckons it’s time to break those out before Shane makes his questions irrelevant.

“Have you ever seen the demon?” 

“Never face on,” Todd says. “I’ll see him in passing reflections.”

Yeah, Ryan supposes Todd would see the demon infesting the Zeta Phi Tau house in reflections. “What does he look like?”

Todd shrugs. “I’m not sure. He changes a lot.”

Ryan had suspected that this body wasn’t Todd’s first, but it’s nice to get a confirmation. “Let’s go ahead and see if we can get a spirit box reading.”

“This part is fun,” Shane says dryly. They end up sitting in a little triangle on the floor with the spirit box in the middle.

“Hello,” Ryan says. “This is a spirit box. You can use this if you would like to communicate with us.”

“If you can,” Shane grumbles.

The spirit box spits static, and then Todd goes suspiciously still.

_ ...relentlessly craving... _

Ryan honest-to-god jumps while seated. Like, his butt cheeks fully depart from the floor.

“That sounded a little musical,” Shane exclaims gleefully. 

_ ..peel off the layers... _

“What is that?” Ryan demands. Todd jerks a little and sits up straight. 

“Hold up, I know this one!” Shane taps the top of the spirit box. “Hey, our demon likes Björk.”

“What?” Ryan says flatly.

“_Did I imagine it would be like this? _” Shane sings. He adlibs nonsense sounds telltaling that he actually doesn’t know any of the words. The spirit box continues to emit static fragments of words.

“Shut up,” Ryan says urgently. 

“I’m surprised we’re not picking up more stations, to be honest,” Shane tells Todd. “This is a pretty residential--”

Ryan shoves at him. “Shut up!” 

There’s a specter under Todd’s bed staring out with a silent scream etched on her face. It’s such an awkward, private thing to witness that Ryan wants to laugh, but this is one of those situations where a laugh doesn’t send the right message. She stares longingly at Shane, and Ryan is ready to sap up whatever energy she uses to try and contact him.

Shane claps once. “Wanderlust! That’s the song.”

Of course that’s the song. Ryan sneaks a quick glare at Todd, who keeps innocently watching the spirit box. Apparently Todd is enjoying the heck out of his wackjob version of foreplay. Haha, very clever, Todd made a reference to lust. Ryan can reference his raison d’etre too.

“_Proud _ of you, bud,” Ryan says, clapping Shane on the shoulder and switching off the spirit box. “Are there any other rooms with happenings, Todd?”

“Yeah,” Todd says. He shifts his hips to get more comfortable on the floor. “All the bedrooms, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Ryan asks. He had just assumed that everything would be centered around Todd. 

“Every initiation ceremony, the mantle shifts to a new person, so the demon has resided in all of these rooms.”

“What mantle?” Shane asks.

“The mouthpiece,” Todd says. 

Ryan narrows his eyes suspiciously. If Todd is really making meatsuit jumps on an annual basis, he’s got to be channeling insane amounts of spiritual power. It’s either a lie, or Todd is significantly more powerful than Ryan had originally supposed. 

“So you’ve talked with the demon?”

“I wouldn’t say that. He gets his message across though.”

“Uh-huh,” Shane says. He’s making that face that means he’s trying to be diplomatic but has overwhelmingly strong feelings on the subject matter at hand. “And how does he do that?”

“I’ll show you that last,” Todd says. “In the basement, the grand finale.” He leaps to his feet and leads the way to the door.

“I'm fully expecting Tom Riddle’s diary. Anything less, and I’m gonna be disappointed.”

Todd doesn’t respond.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan intones. 

“Maybe they’re pen pals!” Shane suggests with unreasonable delight. Ryan shoves him through the doorway. 

“This was Tim’s room last year,” Todd says. He swings open another bedroom door.

“Does Tim have any stories about things that happened here?”

Todd’s smile looks so malevolent that Ryan is already anticipating having to find a camera angle that doesn’t show his face the episode. Jesus, he could at least try to hide the demon face. “Yeah, man, absolutely.”

Shane manages to keep his skeptical thoughts to himself as Todd tells them about a girl who hid in Tim’s closet to jump out and surprise him but instead ended up locked inside for two days. At least, mostly.

“So he didn’t use his closet for two days straight?”

Todd shrugs. “Sounds like it.”

“Huh,” Shane says. There’s a beat of silence. “And the woman? Was she okay?”

“I think so.” Todd shrugs again. “She dropped out of school. We never saw her around here again.”

“I assume,” Ryan says, “that she would have been banging on the door. Shouting. Anything to catch Tim’s attention.”

“Probably. You want to try?” Todd offers. He swings the door open.

“Big closet,” Shane says with naked approval. “Adds good resale value to the house.”

“Yeah, usually fraternities are really invested in resale values.” Ryan dutifully pokes his head into the closet. 

“I’ll come in with you,” Todd says. “To make sure you get out.”

Shane’s eyebrows fly up, and Ryan knows he wants to make a comment. Gut roiling, Ryan steps fully into the closet. If this is how Todd wants Ryan to uphold his end of the contract, Ryan’s just ready to get it over with. It’s a weird kink, sex in a closet with a co-worker right outside the door, but whatever.

“I want to start off with a few minutes of the spirit box,” Ryan tells Shane. He sits cross-legged on the floor. He’s not interested in giving Shane a preview of what they’re about to get up to. Todd crawls in after him.

“And am I supposed to open the door when you start yelling?”

“Only open if we say we can’t get it open,” Todd says. “Though I don’t think it’ll be a problem with me here.”

“Well okay then. Have fun in the closet, kiddos!” Shane swings the door shut, and Ryan takes a stabilizing breath as he switches off his camera.

“You seem nervous,” Todd says. “You worried about something?”

Ryan bites back a curse and cuts on the spirit box. “Let’s get this over with.” He digs around in his bag for his buttsex kit. 

“I don’t know,” Todd laughs. “I’m enjoying myself.” 

Ryan freezes. “Why are we in a closet?”

“Anticipation.” Todd rolls the word like it’s an extravagant delicacy, and Ryan sighs.

It makes sense, he supposes. The hungrier you are, the more you appreciate a meal; the harder you work for something, the more pride you have at accomplishing it. Sitting in a closet is apparently fanning the flames of Todd’s lust.

“Cool,” Ryan says shortly. He drops his bag on the floor and stares up at the jackets and coats hanging overhead. “That’s cool.” He lets his head thump against the back of the closet. “Well, while you’re getting your freak on, I’m getting some footage for the episode. Leave the spirit box alone this time.”

“You liked the song?” Todd asks.

“I did not,” Ryan says adamantly. He shifts to sit straighter--people don’t slouch in terror, afterall--and promptly knocks over his bag.

“You prepared,” Todd coos, holding up a string of condoms.

“Duh,” Ryan hisses. He snatches the condoms back and pats around in the dark for anything else could have fallen out. 

“A tub of lube?” 

Ryan yanks the numbing cream out of Todd’s hands and has a brief but pleasant daydream of dabbing some on Todd’s face and Todd having to talk in that dopey way that people do when they get localized anesthesia at the dentist. Ryan jerks the zipper of his bag shut and switches his camera back on.

“Alright. I’m here to communicate with anyone willing to talk. It sounds like you played a mean prank on a girl in here last year. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ryan listens intently to the white noise of the spirit box for anything to riff with. Shane had made a solid point earlier; it’s weird how little reception the spirit box is picking up. He spends a couple of minutes miming his usual half-freaking out, half-trying to make sense of words spiel before turning off the spirit box and banging on the door.

“Yeah, I can hear you just fine,” Shane says. His voice is muddled through the door.

“You can hear everything through the door.” Todd’s teeth gleam in the dark and Ryan is hit with a wave of distaste. There’s no way that, as Tim, he hadn’t got some gratification off of having a panicking girl locked in his closet. It’s tasteless.

“You coming out?” Shane asks.

Ryan jimmies the closet door. It sticks a little, but when he rams his shoulder into the hollow wood paneling, Shane’s giggling like he’s just pulled off an amazing prank.

“Very funny,” Ryan scolds. With Todd being a creep and Shane being juvenile, he’s starting to get kinda pissy. He twitches hard when on the far wall, a book slips off the bedside table.

“It’s okay,” Shane tells Ryan instantly. He crosses the room, still chuckling, to pick up the book. “That’s just gravity. Probably sent a few little vibrations across the rooms when you burst out of the closet, and it was enough to start the slide.” He picks the book up and waves it at Ryan placatingly.

Ryan clenches his teeth in a phony smile. “Right. I’m pretty sure that book could shred itself and you’d have an explanation for it.”

“I dunno. That’d be pretty neat.”

Ryan is opening his mouth to respond when he catches the title of the book, and his head swivels to glower at Todd. Behind him, Shane gently returns  Lust for Life  to the table before spinning and rubbing his hands together vigorously.

“Alrighty, my turn. Time to do my contortionist trick.” He’s all jutting knees and elbows as he crawls into the closet. 

“You good?” Todd asks. “I shouldn’t have bothered getting up.” At Shane’s nod, he follows him into the closet, giving Ryan a wink right before he shuts the door.

Holy fucking hell. Todd’s the worst.

Ryan bluffs his way through a self-interview with Devon about his time in the closet and does a stellar job of ignoring the pair of trembling specters in the corner. He’ll have to focus on this footage in the episode because his in-closet footage is pretty skimpy. 

Shane and Todd are in there for a full five minutes before Shane yells, “I am now screaming!”

“Okay!” Ryan shouts back, and Shane and Todd meander out of the closet. Ryan really wishes the rest of the episode involved not having to look at Todd’s smug face.

Todd makes a fucking reference to some sort of lust in every fucking room, and Ryan hates how fucking helpless it makes him feel. By the time they’ve looked at the last bedroom and are headed back down to the first floor, Ryan’s almost ready to cancel the deal and concede Shane’s soul except then all this shit would have been for nothing, and man, sometimes pride's a bitch. 

The kitchen is a hot mess, both physically and spectrally. Ryan body blocks a specter who immediately sprints to Shane, but when Todd steps into the room, she falls to the floor and scampers under the table. 

“This is the original kitchen,” Ryan tells Shane and the camera. He’s a little miffed that the specter responded so much more strongly to Todd than him, but then again, this is Todd’s house, and Todd is way more powerful. 

“Want a beer?” Todd asks. He opens the fridge to reveal a keg of beer taking up the majority of shelf space.

“We’re good,” Shane says. “Gotta keep it profesh for the viewers.” Ryan thinks that might be a dig at the pile of dirty dishes. He approves heartily.

Ryan launches into an account from the 70’s of a sophomore whose friend died after an overdose at a homecoming party. “Sarah insisted that Ellie Thomas would never have willingly consumed drugs; however, an autopsy revealed that Ellie had over ten grams of quaaludes in her system.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Shane says. “I imagine that would be hard to sneak into a person.”

“That’d be like, a tablespoon.”

“Was there assault involved?” Shane crosses his arms. “What do quaaludes even do? Is it a date rape drug?”

“No,” Todd says. 

“You know the story?” Shane asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Todd shrugs nonchalantly. A flash of dislike spasms across Shane's face, but he quickly schools his features.

“And what does your fraternity have to say about a women dying after getting dosed up here?”

“First of all, there’s no definitive proof that she got dosed here, or even got dosed at all,” Todd says. And yeah, okay, Ryan’s definitely getting a chuckle out of Todd denying Shane definitive proof after Shane has repeatedly denied Ryan having definitive proof about the supernatural. “Zeta Phi Tau was never charged with any sort of misconduct, and we don’t have to answer to speculation.”

“So the official company line is, ‘Oops, a woman died here’?” 

“She didn’t even die here, man.”

“Right.” Shane moves to lean against the sink with a derisive snort.

“I think she got in too deep,” Todd says. “Sometimes the most dangerous thing to do is to be overprotected. Ellie came from a conservative family, she probably mixed nervous system suppressants with alcohol because she saw people doing that who had built up immunity. She didn’t know what she was getting into.”

“I’m not saying ignorance isn’t harmful,” Shane says. “I’m saying that the provider is responsible, and it sounds like there’s been a history of drugs and alcohol unaltruistically being provided here.”

“It’s college, man. You think people should just not drink, not party, because it’s possible that a couple of people don’t know how to handle it?”

“I’m saying that people who know what they’re doing should make sure that the danger is clear and not advertised as a good old time.”

The conversation is getting away from the demonic possession of Zeta Phi Tau, so Ryan interjects to steer them back on track. Shane relents the debate until they finish in the kitchen, but he picks right back up as they move back down the hall. Ryan stares sullenly at the basement door looming halfway down the hall. The finale is approaching. Fucking finally. 

“So if a parent hasn’t ensured that their kid is an experienced alcoholic and druggie when going to college, it’s really just a roll of the dice whether the kid lives or dies?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Look, let’s switch it to a parallel. You don’t believe in the demon here, right?”

“I don’t believe in any of this. No demons, no ghosts.”

“Right,” Todd says. “That’s what I’m saying. So you could be doing dangerous stuff.”

“It’s not real!”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Todd exclaims. “So you’re going around, doing dangerous shit because you don’t know the impact of what you’re doing--”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Grant me the hypothetical. Wouldn’t it be harmful to not let you know the danger beforehand?”

“Yeah, sure, only I’ve accepted the risks.” Shane is flustered with indignation. “I’ve seen no evidence--” 

“You need evidence?” Todd says.

"Yes! That's literally what I'm here for!"

“Go ahead. Go investigate the basement.”

“Alright,” Shane says with too much pep. “How long? Five minutes? Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes will suffice,” Todd says. Ryan scowls and tries to play it off as terror. It’s going to happen down there. This is where he’s going to fulfill his part of the contract. He's on a ten-minute countdown. Todd pulls back the door and Ryan mulishly watches Shane descend into the basement, lit only by his flashlight.

“I hate this,” Ryan informs the camera and Devon. Todd swings the basement door shut.

“What’s do you think is happening down there?” Devon asks.

“Your low battery light is on,” Todd says. His voice has that heavy, sweet weight to it again. “Is there a fresh battery in the car?”

“Yeah.” Devon sets down the camera on the floor. “I’ll go get it.”

“Take your time. Watch a couple of YouTube videos.”

Ryan scowls. He had only put Shane in the bargain because Shane’s the only one he needs to worry about carelessly offering his soul. And it’s not like falling prey to Todd’s charisma--Gremory would probably call it some inaccurate bullshit like discernment--will ruin her soul, but it will definitely put Todd’s disgusting little fingerprints all over it. It's not until Devon's out of sight that the set-up strikes Ryan.

“What do you want?” Ryan asks. They’re all alone. The little ten-minute timer in Ryan's brain skips down to zero. It’s finally happening. Ryan aches with relieved resignation.

“Stay where you are,” Todd says. Ryan’s feet fuse to the ground, and he swallows hard. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Todd approaching.

The seconds stretch out, and Ryan wonders if Todd is playing some more, waiting to see how long Ryan will wait. Well, joke’s on Todd: Ryan is more than happy to wait, eyes closed, and infinitely more so if Todd waits the whole ten minutes and ends his little game with blue balls.

When he first hears the screams, his eyes pop open without his consent.

The hallway is flooded with specters, men and women, modern and from eras gone. They all howl at Ryan, and he can’t understand any one voice in the cacophony. It’s so different from regular specter behavior, so many more specters than he’s ever seen at once, and he’s ready to absorb and dissipate their energy when some of the shouts align. All at once, he’s hearing everything.

_POWERLUST_ _RUIN_ _POWERLUST_

_DEMON SLAYER _ _CONSUME_

_DESTROY_ _SILVERTONGUE _ _POWERLUST_

_DANGER_ _POWERLUST_

_POWERLUST_ _DANGER_ _DESTRUCTION_

_ HE TASTES YOUR PRIDE _

Powerlust?

Ryan had never once considered that Todd was functioning on the thrill of holding power over others, but it totally jives with how Todd has been stringing him along all day. He’s even been giving Ryan fucking clues that his lust isn’t always about sex. Fuck, Ryan’s pissed that he didn't pick up on that.

Ryan looks over to see Todd slumped in the chair they were originally planning on using for the start-of-episode overview. He’s completely immobile. 

He’s not in there. 

Where the hell is he? And what the holy fuck is he doing?

“You can’t hurt him,” Ryan barks at the vacant body. “That was the deal! You cannot hurt him!” His voice is growing shriller and more desperate in his ears. He’s straining to break out of Todd’s verbal hold. Todd can’t control him. He shouldn’t be able to control him. “FUCK!” Ryan screams. The specters seem invigorated by his blooming panic. 

_ LUST _ _FUCK_ _ DANGER _

_TAKE_ _DESTROY_

_CONTROL_ _FUCK_ _COMMAND_

_DANGER _ _POWERLUST_

_FUCK_ _FUCK_ _FUCK_

_ HE WANTS TO OWN YOU _

“FUCKING HELP ME ALREADY!” Ryan roars to the screaming specters. They continue shouting, completely unabated. Ryan strains towards Todd’s body. “DO SOMETHING! I SWEAR ON EVERY FUCKING THING IF YOU…” He can’t even voice what he’s afraid of, what should be impossible for Todd to do. He didn’t realize that Shane’s soul had become a point of pride. If Todd is violating Shane’s soul, if he is sullying him with demonic influence, if Shane becomes corrupted…

Ryan’s vision flashes white, and he’s staring at the basement door and the white walls and the hardwood floor, and then he’s stumbling to the door, body numb and hollow post-vision. But there’s no time to properly appreciate that Ryan’s just had a vision or the sudden realization that feeling off this week hasn’t just been dreading and anticipating today.

“SHANE!” Ryan bellows. “Don’t say a fucking thing!” He barges down the stairs faster than he can manage and ends up in a heap on the concrete. His breath is ragged as he scrambles upright and sprints towards the flashlight. All it takes is verbal agreement.

The flashlight is sitting on the floor.

“Hey Ryan,” Shane says from the shadows. 

Ryan falls on his ass. Shane snorts and picks up the flashlight. “You’re a mystery, you know? Pride written all over you, clear as day. But no advancement. Not a single soul. I really thought you’d have an office and a little legion of minions by now.”

“Where’s Shane?”

“He’s safe,” Todd assures Ryan. “That was our deal, right? No harm.”

“Taking his body counts!”

“Nah. Shane and I discussed it. It’s a temporary thing. Proving a point, not causing damage. But I gotta ask…” Shane flashes the light towards the stairs. “How did you get out of discernment?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business,” Ryan snarls.

“Is that the tone you want to take with me?” Shane smiles coldly at Ryan, patting Shane’s face. 

Fuck. “Prophecy,” Ryan growls through clenched teeth.

“Aah,” Shane breaths, nodding in joyless understanding. “Well, that couldn’t really have been avoided, could it?”

Ryan narrows his eyes. There’s got to be a reason Todd’s monologuing. Yes, maybe he’s enjoying watching Ryan freak the fuck out about Shane’s body being possessed, but that doesn’t exactly qualify as “owning” Ryan. How is he using the contract? Why isn’t he saying anything?

“How much longer are you going to be in there?” Ryan asks, trying and failing for a carefree tone. 

“I’ll be finished in five,” Shane says.

“Finished?” Ryan repeats.

“Finished,” Shane confirms, and he does a sick little twist of his hips that conveys too much meaning. 

Ryan’s mind goes blank. For one infinite moment, he hears absolutely nothing.

Then he hears two crystalline, strummed A’s. Time stops and speeds up all at once.

Ryan’s never opted to leave his body before, but now he’s hovering outside the door to his body, and the very next door down the hall is for Clark Toddson; no time for questions, he rams into the door, El Choclo throbbing through his spectral being like a comedically-wrong-genre soundtrack. He doesn’t delay: he shreds the remnants of Toddson’s mind until he uncovers the portal to Todd’s spectral plane, worn from frequent use.

Ryan hurtles through the door and finds himself in Todd’s office, where Shane is leaning away from Todd as Todd licks a stripe up his neck. The skin blackens under Todd’s touch and turns grey when Todd moves back enough to say, “Even better. Glad you could join us. Sit.”

“You can’t control him,” Shane informs Todd, and Ryan’s got that fireworks-for-eyes feeling at hearing Shane sounding like himself. “Ryan does what he wants.” Ryan doesn’t sit. 

“Shut up,” Todd tells Shane.

“That doesn’t work on him,” Ryan says. “I know. I’ve tried.”

“He has,” Shane confirms with a little grin to Ryan. Ryan’s never been more grateful for Shane being a piece of shit. 

“No matter,” Todd says. “This is my office.”

It is. Ryan’s tracked down Shane in a world literally of Todd’s creation. It’s not the best strategic play by any means, but at least Todd’s voice control thing isn’t working. That perk is small beans when Todd has already vanished the door. How the hell are they supposed to get out now?

Todd leans toward Shane, and Ryan’s brain leaps into action and out his mouth before he’s even made the connections himself.

“You’re a bit of a cannibal, huh?” Ryan asks. The specters, the fading shadows of lives split from soul, had called him a demonslayer. “What do you get from demons? Not much fulfillment in that, is there?”

It works. Todd backs slightly away from Shane, and Shane immediately dashes toward Ryan. An ottoman explodes into existence, and in trying to dodge it, Shane ends up sprawled on the floor at Todd’s feet.

“I prefer the term omnivore,” Todd says. “Humans can give me souls, but demons are just so damn fun to destroy.” His smile is chilling. “All you have to do is find out what makes them tick. And crush it.”

Ryan stares at him. Bits and pieces of information are fusing in his mind in a mad scramble to find a way out. It’s just like one of those fucking escape rooms. This is the second time Todd’s started monologuing, and Ryan’s starting to think that it might be less of a strategy and more an aspect of Todd’s powerlust. He likes being the center of attention. He likes being feared. He likes controlling.

Ryan’s been proudly documenting his cowardice for over two years on BuzzFeed Unsolved. He’s got no problem with projecting wide-eyed fear. He does it well.

“The wonderful part of this is when you realize that your pride has failed you,” Todd says. He grabs a handful of Shane’s hair and uses it to jerk Shane to his knees. “Your pride is empty arrogance. Look at your contract. I’ve got your human right here.”

Technically, it’s just Shane’s spirit manifesting in a Shane-shaped body, but that technicality is something probably best not argued at the moment. 

“You can’t hurt him,” Ryan insists. “How did you even--”

“I’m educating him,” Todd says grandly. “Letting him know about the danger of playing with demons. It’s tough love, preventing potential long-term harm.”

“Your plan is to violate his soul so he’s properly warned off from making soul offerings to demons in future? That’s not even a danger! I’ve got him covered on that front!”

“Do you, Ryan?” Todd laughs. Shane looks limp and lost in his hand. He’s staring up at Ryan like they’re total strangers. Which honestly, that could be how Shane now feels about Ryan. There’s no way that he’s not piecing shit together. 

Ryan takes a step closer, and Todd drags Shane’s head to his hip. “I’ll tell you my favorite part of breaking demons, Ryan.”

Ryan can’t help the snarl that contorts his features. “What’s that?”

“How hard they cling.” He grinds into Shane’s jaw, which immediately blackens. “What’s yours is mine because _ I own you _. Your place is under my boot because your pride is weaker than my lust. You are cosmically less.”

Ryan trembles. He feels it from deep within, like he’s exploding within and the destruction is rocketing through him in its entirety. He had been so fucking ignorant. He’s such a fraud. 

“Hey,” Shane says. His voice is muffled against Todd’s clothes. “You said you can do this because you’re giving me firsthand demon experience?” 

Todd and Ryan stare at him. “He did say that,” Ryan eventually says. He’s not sure where this bit is going.

“Well, lesson learned!” Shane says. “Class dismissed. Don’t fuck with demons.” His eyes meet Ryan’s, and Ryan’s never been this unable to read him before. “I, uh..I believe.”

Shane sinks anticlimactically through the floor, back towards his body, and Ryan gets that little thrill of pride that happens every time he’s pleased with Shane. 

“Well damn,” Ryan says in the shocked silence of Todd's office. “Not every day you see a demon outplayed by a human. That’s got to be pretty embarrassing.”

“You can’t go anywhere,” Todd sneers.

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” Ryan says. “I’m already soulless. And you can’t destroy me because _ my human got away _. You can’t beat my human. No way you can beat me.” This fucking idiot just got bested by Ryan’s fucking idiot, and that’s a whole lot of egg on Todd’s face.

Todd’s face stills. “You’re proud of him.” 

Damn, Ryan supposes he is. When did that happen? It’s like his little demon brain shorthanded Ryan’s pride of having picked Shane as his new co-host and human into simply “proud of Shane.” 

Ryan shrugs. “Oops, I guess I am.” He takes a deep breath, drawing tonal inspiration from Ricky Goldsworth when he says, “What are you gonna do about it, you piece of shit?”

“I own you!” Todd bellows. “That was the deal.”

Ryan blows him a kiss. “It’s all in the interpretation, sweetheart.” Ryan smirks at Todd. 

Todd’s desk levitates, flips, and smashes into Ryan. If Ryan were a more powerful demon, he would be able to disseminate his spectral form, momentarily merge with the desk upon contact, and reassemble on the other side. As is, Ryan can only react the way he expects he would react in the physical world. The weight of the desk slams him into the ground, his nose breaks and his mouth fills with blood. 

Ryan spits it out, and Todd vanishes the blood midair before it can splatter on the floor. 

“I own you!”

“You really think you can, do you? You missed your chance; you should have answered my call before Gremory. There’s nothing left to own.”

Todd roars, and the desk rises again. 

“Did someone overspend themselves?” Ryan taunts. “You went all silvertongue on me, you jumped Shane’s body, and you transported a human soul here. That’s a lot of heavy lifting.” He rises to his feet knowing full well that he’s just going to be struck right back down. It’s okay though; he doesn’t stand intending to stay upright. He stands to prove that he hasn't been overpowered. “You’ve been at this for a good long while, haven’t you? At least sixty years? But your time is running out.” The desk slams Ryan into a wall and, oooh, yeah, that’s a rib sticking out. That definitely gives Ryan a moment’s pause. 

“You need a little juice to get into your next body, don’t you? And I’m not giving it to you. Shane’s sure as hell not giving it to you, and his soul was never available to you--”

Todd lurches to where Ryan is sliding slowly but determinedly back up the wall and yanks on his protruding rib. Ryan’s phantom pain renders him speechless.

“You’re stuck here with me.”

“Yeah I am,” Ryan says when he’s convinced he can open his mouth without screaming. “But I’m proud to be your downfall.”

Rage spasms across Todd’s face. 

Ryan beams back. “You okay, sweetie? You’re looking a little pale.”

It’s a total lie, but the panic that sweeps Todd’s face causes the saturation of the room to drop.

“Uh-oh. Looks like we’re out of time.”

Ryan’s burning with fulfillment. It is so damn satisfying to witness another’s demise at his hands, doubly so knowing it’s a thwarted ambush, and triply so knowing full well that Gremory won’t get an ounce of fulfillment from Ryan’s pride. 

“The thing about pride,” Ryan explains, bopping the tip of Todd’s nose, “is that it’s forever. Lust lasts for the moment, and buddy, your moment is up.” Todd slaps Ryan's hand away.

An open door springs into existence on the far wall. “Let’s see if you feel the same way without a body,” Todd snarls. The desk raises up as Todd stalks towards the exit, but Ryan is ready. He hurtles the rising desk and dives through the door first.

Back in Toddson’s mind--of course Todd was trying to recuperate in a familiar body--Ryan kicks the door shut, knowing full well that he has mere seconds before a furious demon storms in. He spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor and hastily outlines a basic sigil. He rolls away as he completes the last line, and not a second too soon as Todd bursts through a new door, straight into the trap.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ryan beams.

Todd looks up with eyes brimming with a tsunami of self-aware despair. “Open the line.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d rather you starve.”

“I said open the fucking line!”

Even on his last dregs, Todd commands substantial power. Ryan might be feeling a little cowed if he weren’t so occupied with gloating. Ryan carefully traces a bigger sigil around Todd, and another one around that. He’s not interested in taking any chances here.

“And I said no,” Ryan answers cheerfully. “I’ll just be leaving you to it, then.”

The problem, Ryan very quickly figures out, is that he doesn’t actually know how to get out of a body. He’s not entirely sure how he did it the first time, especially without having an office of his own. It’s no matter. He expands to fill Toddson’s body and opens his eyes to find himself getting hogtied by Shane.

“Hey,” Ryan says.

“Shit!” Shane says. He falls on his butt and crawls back from Ryan. “Where’s Ryan? Is he back?” His eyes drift towards the basement before snapping back to Ryan.

“I’m Ryan, you idiot,” Ryan says. 

“Prove it!” Shane says.

Memories are more of a physical component, and inside of Toddson’s body, Ryan can’t think of any shared memory that might prove his identity. Movies have really misrepresented that aspect of being a demon. 

Apparently Ryan’s frustrated huff of air is enough for Shane to ID him though. Shane hesitantly stands up on wobbly legs. “Why are you in Todd?”

“He was my freaking leap point to tracking your ungrateful ass down.”

“You’re a demon.” 

It’s not a question, but Ryan answers nonetheless.

“Yeah.” The reality of everything comes swinging in hard, and Ryan’s grateful that it didn’t hit sooner. Shane knows. Shane _ knows_. This is the end of everything Ryan’s built in the last five years.

“Where’s Todd?”

“He’s trapped in here.”

“Where’s the crew? Are they okay?”

“Devon’s probably still in the car, looking for batteries. Mark is doing the landscaping shots.”

Shane breathes a sigh of relief before hesitantly making eye contact with Ryan. “Are you fighting him right now?” 

Ryan rolls his eyes. He can’t even sense Todd any more. Ryan expects he’ll be turning spectral any moment now: out in the physical world with no body, he’s gotta be fading fast. “Todd’s contained.”

“Oh.” Shane picks at a thread on his jeans. “And you?”

“Am I contained?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I could probably wiggle out of these, but it’d be a lot more convenient if you--” He wiggles his shoulders as much as he can. He knows that's not what Shane means, but Shane doesn't bother correcting him.

“What will you do?”

“Well, I would quite like to get back to my body, actually,” Ryan says primly. “I’m not loving this one.”

That startles a laugh out of Shane, and Ryan automatically smiles back at him. Shane quickly stops laughing, and Ryan’s smile slowly crumples. 

“And then?” Shane asks.

“We go home,” Ryan says. “I, uh, I’m open for ideas.” Like he doesn’t know what Shane wants. Shane is probably right now diligently doing the necessary emotional red tape to cut off emotional ties to Ryan. “You gonna untie me, big guy?”

“Do I need to untie you?” Shane retorts. 

“Are you planning on carrying me down there?”

Shane looks Ryan over. Todd’s body is bigger and bulkier than Ryan’s, and Ryan honestly has doubts about whether Shane is physically capable of carrying him down the stairs.

“I’ll untie your legs,” Shane decides. “But the hands stay tied.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Ryan agrees impatiently. Shane’s fingers are a little shaky as he pulls apart the extension cord from Ryan’s ankles. Ryan is a little impressed with Shane’s resourcefulness. 

“Don’t try anything funny,” Shane says.

“Like repossessing my original body funny?”

“That’s not funny,” Shane informs him flatly. 

“Okay, okay,” Ryan agrees. “Not funny.”

Shane has Ryan go down the stairs first. He’s doing an awkward reacharound to make sure that Ryan’s path down the stairs is well-lit. It’s a nice gesture, but Ryan is still poking his way down the stairs pretty carefully. Muscle memory is keeping him upright, but walking in a new body comes with that vertigo sense of missing a step on the stair. With Ryan actually walking down steep, old-school basement stairs, he’s constantly lurching to avoid falling.

They are nearly to the bottom of the stairs when Devon’s voice rings down behind them. 

“Ryan? Where are you? Shane?”

Ryan responds instinctively. “Don’t come down here! Wait up there.”

“Ok!” Devon chirps back. Shane draws a horrified breath.

“Did you just…”

“I think so,” Ryan says. He doesn’t want to put it into words, that he’s apparently capable of using Todd’s silvertongue. He doesn’t know what it means.

“You didn’t use it on me,” Shane says thoughtfully. Ryan doesn't reckon it's worth mentioning that he didn't know he had it until just now. He does miss an actual step. Shane grabs him by his bound arms, jarring Ryan’s shoulders but effectively stopping him from falling down the basements stairs in his second body today. Shane immediately releases Ryan’s arms, and Ryan looks over to his prone, spread-eagle body hiding in the shadows at the edge of the flashlight.

“You moved me,” Ryan notes. He knows for a fact that his abandoned body didn’t naturally fall flat on its back.

“I was trying to see if you were breathing,” Shane says in a small, pinched voice. Ryan can imagine Shane wouldn’t love coming to in a basement next to an unconscious body of a friend and co-worker. It sounds like Shane hasn’t reached that emotional disconnect point yet.

“I mean, obviously.” Ryan can’t not poke at Shane’s faulty logic. Apparently that part of his wiring is integral to who Ryan is no matter which body he's in. “What, you think demons are juggling bodily functions 24/7? Inhale, pump, pump, exhale, pump, pump, oh, wait, we’re about to eat, start salivating!”

“Okay, well, when you put it like that…” Shane huffs out one solitary wheeze. “Alright. Get back in there.”

Ryan drops to his knees next to his body. “I’m not sure how.”

“You’re not sure how..?” Shane repeats.

“Yeah, it’s not like I’m changing rides on the regular,” Ryan snaps. He plops his face on his chest and tries to kinda will himself to drop into his body. “This is a first for me.”

“What did you do last time?” Shane asks. His soft voice sounds obnoxiously loud in the silent basement. 

“I don’t know.” Ryan lumps himself upright. “It was in the moment.”

“Well, be in the moment now,” Shane says unhelpfully. 

Ryan glares at him to let Shane know his opinion before he facedives to his chest. His teeth sink into his lip, and ooooooouch. That really stings. This body sucks.

“Relive that moment.”

Ryan scowls. “I’d rather not, thanks.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Well, I imagine murder would do the trick.”

Shane goes very still. He looks split between running the fuck away and approaching carefully. “Not an option.”

“Look, if this body’s not functioning, I can just drift on over--”

“Murder’s not on the table.”

“It would just be Todd.”

“Not an option!” Shane shouts. 

“Then how the hell am I supposed to get back?” 

“I don’t suppose you have a ritual for this,” Shane says dryly. “Your occult circles and all.”

“Right,” Ryan says. He digs through his body’s jeans until he comes up with his phone. He doesn’t remember the unlock password, but his thumb is right there, so it’s no hassle to get logged in and pull up his folder of screencaps of legit sigils. “Most of these are summoning ones, but there might be one in there for expelling demons. Obviously, you’ll have to do it because I’ll be part of it.” He passes his phone up to Shane. 

“Will Todd get that body?”

“I don’t think so. He’s warded.” Ryan also suspects that Todd might have made the big permanent transition between physical existence and spectral. Also also, Toddson’s mind was kinda a casualty of Ryan finding Shane. He’s not got particularly high expectations of anything going on in this meat sack. “Either way, you’ll be making a sigil for him too.”

Shane pinches and stretches to zoom Ryan’s screen. “What are we drawing this with?”

Ryan bites his lip. “I’ve got some cream in my bag.”

Shane rummages through Ryan’s bookbag and emerges triumphant with the little jar of numbing cream. “Do I want to know?”

“I anticipated things going differently,” Ryan says primly. Shane levels an eyebrow at him. “You don’t want to know.”

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

It takes Shane forever to hobble around Ryan and his body. Ryan intends to be all nitpicky, but the only thing he can really complain about is speed as Shane carefully reapplies cream to Todd’s right sock, which he’s using to prevent his hand from going numb. Ryan settles onto the concrete, trying to get comfortable, and then he’s standing upright in Gremory’s office and being subjected to a slow clap.

“Very good,” Gremory croons.

Ryan sighs loudly. It’s nice to be back in his own body, even if it’s only a spectral projection. Pity that it comes at the cost of a trip to Gremory. “What do you want?”

“My, are we ornery today. I just wanted to congratulate you on not being dead.”

Ryan clenches his jaw. “You knew about Todd.”

“I imagine everyone in the building knows about Todd,” Gremory says delicately. “You two had very...complementary... vices, did you not?”

Ryan grimaces. “Not.” Like, yeah, sure, he could see some overlap between wanting power and being pleased with oneself, but pride allows Ryan considerable linear and lateral growth. He’s not interested in talking nuances with Gremory.

“I think you’ll figure it out,” Gremory simpers. 

Ryan refuses to ask what he thinks Gremory is implying. Sure, he could throw around some of Todd’s silvertongue while in Todd’s main vessel, but surely…

Gremory rises from his seat and takes long strides over to Ryan. “You’re going to be more likely to be summoned.” His eyes glitter venomously. “And you’re going to agree to contracts.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan says. Like someone’s going to run up to him and offer him their soul on the street. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Apparently that suffices for Gremory. He plants a hand Ryan’s chest and shoves.

Ryan gasps and sits up, nearly cracking heads with Shane. 

“Oh, thank god,” Shane breathes. “Ryan?”

“Yeah,” Ryan rasps. His body feels different, and he can’t quite explain how. They stare at each other, neither sure what to say. Ryan looks away to stumble to his feet and Shane watches silently, looking torn between helping and fleeing. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. He finally looks away from Ryan. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World Building Notes  
\- Specters  
It's never stated explicitly, but I have hinted a few times: specters are the ghostly remains of demons stuck on the physical plane. If you have a soul, you head on to whatever afterlife there is (or whisk out of existence, it's up to your imagination!), but if not, you just slowly become less and less until you are nothing. 
> 
> \- Demons get fulfillment from satisfying their cardinal vice and/or consuming souls. Existence requires energy and traveling from the spectral plane (including from one body to the spectral plane to another body) requires energy. A demon with insufficient fulfillment will become a specter.
> 
> \- Discernment  
I'm taking a lot of liberty with the gift of discernment (and this isn't fully explained in this chapter). When a demon discerns, they can "discern" a lie as truth, an idea as fact, or even correlate between two unrelated things (like not moving with importance). It could be mistaken as charisma and is commonly misnomered "silvertongue."
> 
> -Possession  
There can only be one being in possession of a body at a time. A human might be pulled onto the spectral plane and left in an "office" while their body is run by a demon, but humans will not remain in the spectral plane for extended periods of time and cannot be taken into the spectral plane without a verbal contract.
> 
> -Demon Offices  
Demons get an office when they make soul contracts. A demon has complete power in their office (though their upline demon can summon them out of their office). The office isn't a real office; it's a carved out space on the infinite spectral plane. A demon can use their office door to connect to another demon's office door. 
> 
> -Corruption  
Corruption is a lot less mild than being soulless. It makes a soul much less fulfilling and, although a soul can recover from corruption, it can never return to its original state. Corrupted souls suffer from severe depression.


	14. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a summary of chapters 12 and 13 for any returning readers:
> 
> Chapter 12:  
Ryan is not pleased to see Sara and Shane make an appearance at Helen’s funeral. First of all, he has to level up his grieving act because he’s got people focused on him. Second of all, having Shane nearby reminds him of the upcoming and super sketchy deal that he has with Todd. Ryan has a lot of anxiety about the deal. He’s deduced that Todd’s vice is lust and thinks fulfilling his contract will involve sex.
> 
> Chapter 13:  
Ryan and Shane go to Todd's frat house to do a demon investigation. Todd taunts and aggravates Ryan by referring to and delaying the contract while simultaneously leading Shane to redefine harm to create a loophole in the “do no harm to Shane” part of the contract. Todd possesses Shane and attempts to corrupt him (although he can’t take Shane’s soul). Ryan tracks them down in the spectral plane and Todd tries to destroy Ryan by overpowering his pride. Shane escapes back through the loophole Todd made in the contract, and Ryan manages a narrow escape from Todd and traps him in Todd’s mind. Shane has to help Ryan get back into his body. Gremory summons Ryan to congratulate him on staying alive, hint that Ryan has picked up some of Todd’s traits, and command Ryan to accept contracts. Ryan and Shane are on shaky terms.
> 
> AND NOW...CHAPTER 14

Ryan’s done as well as he has for himself because he doesn’t get caught up in the moment. So yeah, he’s hella ecstatic that he KO-ed Todd freaking Turpitude. That’s something that he’s not gonna get over, even if he lives ten lifetimes. It’s a classic Daniel LaRusso versus Johnny, Loony Toons versus Monstars, Average Joe’s versus Purple Cobras. But as high as Ryan is flying with the surprise victory that he nonetheless feels he very much deserved, he can’t ignore the part where his career at BuzzFeed is untenable unless he feels like making a move on Shane’s soul. And damn it, Shane’s soul was the gold trophy from the nightmare of a night at Zeta Phi Tau’s frathouse, and Ryan’s not ready to see all of his efforts go to waste. Possibly even more importantly, he’s really not ready to see Gremory get a glow-up from Ryan’s work.

Apparently Shane’s coping strategy is to just flat-out ignore Ryan. And that _ hurts _ in a way Ryan wasn’t expecting. Shane’s been at his beck and call as long as they’ve known each other. Ryan doesn’t know how to approach him or if he should approach him at all. He doesn’t really have anything he can say to Shane to fix this, and he has a sense that a teasing, “Told ya so,” would unlock a torrent of ugly. That’s what they do, though. They tease each other. And this last trip has fucked it all up because there’s some things that jokes can’t fix.

So, yeah, maybe Ryan is moping around the break room because he doesn’t want to be in the same vicinity as Shane’s studiously blank face, but that’s entirely his prerogative. It’s been a long week: he’s sore from having collapsed and lain on a basement floor for half an hour, and he’s pretty sure things are gonna get worse before they get better. What’s BuzzFeed going to do, fire him?

“Hey,” Sara says, and Ryan looks up from his slow scroll through Hollywood job postings. 

“Hey?” Ryan’s eyes dart around the room, looking for who she might be talking to. The break room is completely empty. 

He supposes there’s the possibility that Shane hasn’t let Sara in on the whole Ryan-is-a-demon thing. Maybe Shane’s too proud to admit that he was wrong. Maybe he’s scared of people thinking he’s crazy. Either way, there’s no way he’s going to come bouncing back to Ryan for spooky shenanigans at haunted locations. No point in misreading this as an overture back to how things used to be.

“So, something happened yesterday,” Sara says. 

Ryan hums noncommittally. It’d be great if he were in on the scoop. What the hell had Shane told her? Is she about to berate him for not having a soul or for Shane getting spiritually assaulted? 

“I’m not mad,” Sara continues. She takes a deep breath and quirks a sad smile Ryan’s way. “I kinda suspected.”

“Whaaaa?” Ryan chokes on the coffee he had been attempting to sip to buy himself some reaction time. 

“You’re right, I’m a little mad,” Sara admits, and she bares her teeth in jest before letting her face relax. “I think it was really only a matter of time--”

“How long have you known?” Ryan interrupts. Sara has always been a little bit witchy, but he hadn’t thought she was in the know. And if she knew, how the hell did Shane not know until yesterday? Unless he did know? But then is he just mad because Ryan didn’t stop him from getting involved with Todd?

“I think I always knew,” Sara says. She opens her mouth to speak, but Ryan doesn’t hear whatever she’s saying because the door slams open and Shane comes flailing in in a full panic. 

“Hey,” Ryan says.

“Hey,” Sara says.

“Sara, will you come look over a project with me?” Shane blusters. Ryan doesn’t know if he’s ever seen him look this discombobulated before. 

“Sure, right after Ryan and I finish talking.” 

Shane looks physically pained. It’s such a stretch from how he usually is, ironclad in his unflusterability. “It’s urgent.”

“Right,” Sara says. “Urgent. That’s how things last looked at your desk.” 

Shane turns pink and his mouth twitches, but he seems unable to form words. Usually it would be hilarious to watch, but right now, it’s just a reminder of how irreparably broken everything is with Ryan.

“Go on,” Ryan says. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” 

Sara and Shane have a ferocious staring contest that involves an excessive amount of nose crinkles, squints, and brow raises. Shane bows his head in defeat and slides down next to Ryan at the round table.

“Can we talk alone?” Shane asks Sara.

Sara softens. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She steps forward to place a kiss on each cheekbone. “You got this, big guy.”

Ryan doesn’t know what to do, so he settles for taking a long, slurping sip of his coffee. By the time he’s putting his cup back on the table, Sara is waltzing back through the breakroom door. The click of the door closing fades, leaving only the faint humming of the refrigerator and the persistent tick of the analog clock over the microwave. 

“So,” Ryan says after a full two minutes of silence. He spins his phone around in his hands. “Did you actually want to talk?”

“You can’t talk to Sara,” Shane says. 

“Wow, coming off pretty misogynistic there,” Ryan says.

“You know why!”

“Yeah, that’s probably the taint shining through.”

“The what?”

“You know. Or maybe you don’t, I guess you didn’t see it. Your soul got a little tainted. Not fully corrupted. Nothing too bad in the long run scope of things, but--”

“No, that’s not...you can’t talk to Sara because you can’t do….” Shane makes a vague hand waving gesture.

“Dude, you know I’m not a wizard, right?” Ryan says. “And I’m offended that you’d imply I’m running around slurping souls or whatever. Like, have I once made a move on your soul in all the times I’ve been right there while you’re offering it up to whatever dee-mon” --Ryan uses Shane’s stupid way of pronouncing it-- “is present?”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m not evil!” Ryan has never once considered his demonhood in terms of morality, and he’s a little surprised by the ferventness of his answer. “I’m proud!”

Shane stares at him. It’s a nicer stare than the earlier suspicious one, but it’s still not Ryan’s favorite thing to be subjected to. “You’re proud of what you do?”

“What is it exactly that you think I do?”

“Luring people in to take their souls.”

“Is that why you thought Sara wanted to talk to me?”

“Why else would she talk to you?”

“I dunno, Shane, she’s your girlfriend! Maybe she’s chill with me being a demon.”

“Sara doesn’t know you’re a demon.”

“Sara definitely knows.”

“I didn’t tell her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” Shane presses his palms into his forehead. “It’s just...I don’t have any proof. I can’t make a claim without evidence.”

“Sara literally just told me that she’s suspected as long as she’s known me and she’s kinda-is, kinda-isn’t mad at me. She knows, dude.”

The tension in Shane’s body doubles. Shane’s hands slide down to hide his entire face, and when he speaks, his voice sounds muffled. “Sara has a theory about what happened yesterday based on years of speculation and false data.”

“What does she think happened?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t have to matter.” It’s to automatic to needle Shane, especially when he’s trying to hide something. “What’s her theory?”

Shane drags his hands off his face, stretching the skin under his eyes so Ryan can see the pink tissue under his eyeballs. He fixes Ryan with a dour look as he says, “That we lost the b in our bromance.”

It takes Ryan a second to get what Shane’s saying, and he snorts at the idea. “Sara, _ your girlfriend _ Sara, ships us?”

It’s not a new notion. Hell, back when BuzzFeed Unsolved first aired and Ryan was combing the webs for any responses to the show, he had found people who shipped him with Brent, and he and Brent had practically nothing in common. It’s just weird to hear someone who actually knows them thinking that way, and especially the one dating Shane.

“Not actively,” Shane says.

“Huh.”

Shane slaps his hands down on the table. “Again, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you don’t go all demon on her.”

“You mean that I _ keep _ not going all demon on her? Like I have for the last three years?” Ryan picks up his mug and prepares to storm back into the office. “Fuck you.”

“Hold up!” Shane hops to his feet and scrambles to intercept Ryan at the door. “What are you doing?”

“What the fuck you mean, what am I doing? I’m clearly going back to my desk!”

“That’s not what I’m asking you!” Shane bellows back with real rage, and Ryan takes pause. It’s an uncanny thing to see a placid man lose control of himself, and it’s a darker side of Shane than Ryan ever supposed existed. 

He has no doubt what’s causing it. Ryan’s memory casts a shadow over that long stretch of throat, the jutting jawline, the flushed left cheek. It’s a pointless connection for Ryan’s mind to make: it hadn’t been Shane’s physical body tarnishing under Todd’s touch. 

“I told you,” Ryan says in a tight but somehow level voice. “I’m all about pride. I create things that I’m proud of and make them successful. I don’t need to prey on human souls. I make my own fulfillment.”

“...what?”

Ryan heaves a sigh. “I’m not like, well-studied, in this stuff, but, uh, you’ve got a physical body and a spiritual self. That spiritual self is who you are, the sum of your values and experiences and personality and triumphs and failures and growths. But when you lose your soul--”

“You lost your soul?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re human? You’re the actual Ryan Bergara?”

“One and only. Shit, I mean, the only LA native Ryan Bergara. There’s another one out there somewhere.” 

Shane cocks his head. “How did you lose your soul? Was it…?” He trails off.

“What?”

“Was it since we’ve met?”

“No,” Ryan laughs. “No, way before then. I was sixteen and an idiot.”

“Huh.” Shane taps out the math on his fingers. “So, eleven years?”

“Eleven years a demon,” Ryan confirms. 

“Huh.” Shane looks up from his fingers. “So what happens when you lose your soul?”

“Not much,” Ryan says. “I don’t think I would have noticed if Gremory hadn’t summoned me.”

“One of your friends, I presume?”

Ryan gags. “No. Gremory is the demon who got my soul and he’s a lazy sack of crap. I hate him.”

“He’s your enemy?”

“You’re making it more dramatic than it really is. He’s my supervisor, only he can’t fire me because of the part where he took my soul.”

“And Todd?”

“Todd was a fucking psycho. I don’t get out much, but I’m pretty sure it’s not standard for demons to go around trying to kill other demons.”

“He was trying to kill you?”

“Yeah. Most of that went down after you left, but you were there for a bit of it. Remember the part where he was telling me how inferior my pride was, how my pride let him play me?”

Shane tugs on his hair. It’s started getting a little longer recently, and it’s a look that suits him. “I remember everything and nothing. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Ryan says nothing. Even in memory, how he had let himself get manipulated by Todd makes his chest tight and his breaths short. He’s not going to relive that memory so Shane can get his curiosity fix. 

“Oh, I see how it goes. The second you get definitive proof that ghosts are real, you decide that you’re crazy.”

“That’s not...it’s not...it’s more...I refuse to be riled by you, Bergara!” Shane crosses his arms and leans back onto the counter. 

“I’m just here to report the facts,” Ryan shrugs, and he cackles when Shane scowls.

“You’re no truthsayer.”

“Tell me one time I’ve fibbed. Go ahead, knock yourself out.”

“The entire thing with you being a demon!”

“I’ve never once said that I’m not a demon.”

Shane gives a garbled yell and flops back to sit fully on the counter. His legs still dangle all the way down to the floor. “You said I was mugged!” he shouts triumphantly. 

“Yeah, but you kinda were mugged. I took your wallet and everything.”

Shane fixes him with a steely look. “You’re unreal. An absolute menace.” He continues muttering, but it’s at a lower pitch, neither intended for Ryan’s ears nor attempting to go unheard. “What the hell am I doing? Arguing with a demon? This is actually insane.” He looks back up at Ryan. “I hate talking to you.”

Wow, Ryan did not come into the break room to get cornered by his ex-human/friend’s girlfriend and then bad-mouthed by said ex-human/friend. “Ok,” he says waspishly. 

“It’s really hard to not fall into our usual spiel. And this is bigger than our usual spiel.”

“I didn’t come looking for you. I didn’t ask to talk to you. I literally tried to leave this conversation.”

“You didn’t try to save me,” Shane bites out vindictively. Ryan gapes at him.

“What?”

“When we were in that office place--”

“Yeah, the spectral plane, yeah--”

“I tried to get to you, and you just...you didn’t care.”

Ryan knows the exact moment Shane’s thinking about, those moments right before Shane escaped and Todd was dragging Shane around by his head. He forgoes the pleasantries and hope-meting words in favor of plain, brutal truth. “Demons can’t care, not the way humans can.”

It’s not the answer Shane’s looking for. His face shutters with almost violent irritation. “You joke about killing me all the time. Not really jokes, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean I never sincerely planned a murder attempt. I did have occasional fantasy. Ricky was kinda a catch-all for demonic slip-ups.” Ryan doesn’t reckon now is the best time to brag about his brilliantly improvised character and character development, but he can’t help it. Shane now has the potential to fully appreciate the genius of Ricky Goldsworth.

Shane is not taking the opportunity to fully appreciate the genius of Ricky Goldsworth. Instead he's bristling with self-righteous indignation. “I can’t believe I wasted time worrying about you--” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, no demon is worth your time,” Ryan interrupts, flapping a hand at Shane. “But it’s not like you got nothing out of this.”

“Tell me what I got out of this,” Shane challenges.

“BuzzFeed Unsolved put you on the map. Without me, you’d still be doing pedantic little videos about birthday probabilities.”

“What map? And I liked my videos!”

“The internet map. People know who you are because of BuzzFeed Unsolved.”

“I never gave a damn about the fame!” Shane shouts. “I just gave a damn about you!” His voice rings in Ryan’s ears. “It was a lot easier to believe that demons are real than to believe that our friendship was fake.”

“It’s not entirely fake,” Ryan points out. “We did the friend things.” Shane doesn’t get to sweep away the work Ryan put into him to get them as close as they had been. Not on Ryan’s watch. “Now you’re upset because of my motivations, it’s done, and we move on. Be logical about it.”

Shane always presents himself logically, but Ryan has studied him for years and knows better. He knows that Shane is drawn to the logical because he wants to see its inevitable failures. He loves that process of human error throwing systems out of whack. And now Shane is the human problem in the logic puzzle of friendship, and Ryan knows that Shane is going to burrow himself to the center until he can make sense of it all.

“So we move on? We continue with the show and just--”

“Of course not,” Ryan scoffs. “The camera chemistry is beyond fixing at this point.”

“So you find someone else to feed off of?”

“Hold up,” Ryan snaps. “As I’ve already made clear, I never ‘fed off of’ you. I never influenced you in any way. The only mark on your soul is Todd’s, and quick reminder, I’m the one that got rid of him, you’re welcome very much, feel free to thank me.”

“I got myself out of there,” Shane retorts. “Todd said it was your contract that put me there in the first place!”

“Did he tell you what the contract was?”

“Does it matter?”

Ryan stills. Shane makes a really good point. Everything is already fucked up past repair with Shane; why is he wasting time trying to argue his innocence to someone he’s cutting ties with? It won’t behoove him in any way to continue this argument. 

“Nope,” Ryan says. “It really doesn’t.” He marches through the breakroom door, nearly bowling over Sara, who’s standing guard with crossed arms. He doesn’t break stride as he heads to his desk, grabs his laptop, charger, bag, and jacket, and goes to the elevator before trying to properly pack his bag.

Ryan knew that Shane would be upset with him and was ready for Shane to rant at him, to demand answers. Ryan wasn’t ready for his own reaction. 

He doesn’t need Shane to be proud of him. He doesn’t. 

He can be proud of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Ryan, you can't brag about how good you are at being a demon when Shane's right there and MIFFED about you being a demon.


	15. Unburnt Offerings

One moment Ryan is wallowing on the couch rewatching Inception, and in the next, his world blinks to black. It’s not like one of Gremory’s calls, twisting reality from Earth to plush purgatory. It’s an entirely new type of summons. It’s one that Ryan supposes he will have to get used to with his supposed new status.

“What do you want?” Ryan asks as the world returns around him in swathes of pigment. He stands up straighter when he notices the height of his summoner. It wouldn’t do to look less intimidating than the guy looking for a favor. The summoner vanishes before the world has perfectly formed, and then Ryan is standing all alone in an empty bedroom. He looks around for clues as to what type of person his summoner is, but the room is impeccably tidy and he can’t get a good angle on the picture frames from inside of his circle. His summoning circle is painted on the back of a dollar store plastic table cloth and held in place with masking tape. Literally all Ryan has to do is rip the plastic and he’s out. It’s a profoundly moronic summoning.

The bedroom door creaks open and Ryan spins around.

“Shane?” It’s been three days, and Shane looks both better and worse than Ryan last saw him. He looks exhausted but has that soft air of comfortable certainty that Ryan hasn't seen since before everything went down at Zeta Phi Tau.

“I wanted to be here to greet you,” Shane says, “but I forgot the offering.”

He is, in fact, holding an extra large container of movie popcorn. Even from this far away, Ryan can smell the perfect blend of salt and melted butter.

“You couldn’t just text me? What do you want?” Ryan asks. He’s trying to get a read on Shane, but it’s really hard not to look at the popcorn. He hopes all future summonings come with popcorn. Hell, he’d do all sorts of demonic favors for a well-timed popcorn offering. 

Apparently Shane is in no rush to complete his business. “Do you want out?” he asks, and he takes a confident step forward. 

“No!” Ryan screeches. Shane freezes. “You don’t let a demon out of their circle, you idiot! That’s how they stay contained!” Ryan is just gearing up to lecture Shane on summoning a demon in a flimsy circle when Shane reveals just how off the deep end he really is.

“But I don’t need to contain you,” Shane says logically. “You’re my friend.”

At first, Ryan can only gape at him. This is it. Ryan’s gone crazy, or fallen into an alternate universe, or Shane has cracked. “I’m not your friend,” Ryan says firmly. Their friendship has served its purpose and run its course. 

“Yes, you are,” Shane says in an unreasonably calm voice. 

Ryan groans and paces around his circle before asking his original question for the third time. “What do you want?”

Shane steps closer. He pauses a foot outside of Ryan’s circle. “I want your soul.”

“Already taken,” Ryan snorts. “Try again.”

Shane steps into the circle as Ryan passes, steps right in front of Ryan so that Ryan bumps into him and has to catch the popcorn before it can fall. “I want your soul back.”

Ryan retreats hard. The circle isn’t that big, so he hits the barrier hard and feels his guise of humanity flicker and the empty soullessness showing through. “I can’t--”

“Can’t you?” 

“I can’t,” Ryan says. “It’s not in my hands. I don’t have access.” It's not the main issue, but it's one that he can defend subjectively.

“You could beat Todd, you can overpower whoever does--”

“I can’t!” Ryan hisses. “Gremory is my maker. I cannot act against him. And even if I could, how the fuck would I out-lazy him? It’s impossible.” 

“Does he want you to get souls?” Shane demands. Ryan crams a handful of popcorn into his maw.

“Oofcars e doz,” he mumbles vengefully. “The lazy-ass bitch.”

“Then you can tell him this,” Shane says. His blank demeanor gives Ryan no warning of the lunacy about to pour forth. “My soul for your soul.”

“My soul isn’t even good anymore,” Ryan says. “It’s all contaminated and gross.” He’s not seen his soul, but he knows what a consumed soul looks like. He can still feel it in his palm. 

“So it should be an easy bargain. One fresh, juicy soul for one defunct one.”

“No,” Ryan says. He steps around the border of the circle to stay as far away from Shane as possible. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Let me decide that.”

“No!” Ryan roars. The room shudders and a photograph falls to the floor. Ryan can hear Obi howling in the next room. He takes some more popcorn.

“This is how I know we’re friends!” Shane shouts right back. “You’re literally refusing to do the demon stuff to me. Let me do this!”

“Because we’re friends?” Ryan can’t tell if he’s laughing or screaming, but either way, Shane looks annoyingly unperturbed. 

“Yes!”

“We’re not friends,” Ryan spits. There isn’t really a way to describe their dynamic. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Seemed like it.”

“Yeah, so I behaved poorly when my worldview was forcefully shifted and I found out that my best friend is a demon. I think I’m allowed that. Doesn’t mean I hate you. You’re a demon. So what? I’ve still got your back.”

Ryan stares at the ground and fights for willpower to get through this conversation. Shane has to be acting purposefully obtuse. People aren’t _ friends _ with demons. Hell, demons aren’t friends with demons. “Helen died.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t sad because she died. I hated that I had to craft a reaction.”

“Okay.”

“If it had been you that died, I wouldn’t have been sad because you died.” Ryan shoots a quick look at Shane before resuming his staring contest with the floor. “I would’ve hated to have to craft a reaction and find another co-host.”

“Both of those would suck,” Shane agrees. “But you’re still having to craft a reaction and find another co-host if you want to avoid me forever. You’re choosing to stay away from me. Even right now.” He gestures to the space Ryan’s been trying to preserve between them.

“I thought that’s what you wanted!” Ryan shoots another glare at Shane, but he can’t look away from Shane’s face. He’s so damn earnest right now, and so damn clueless too.

Shane absorbs the words. “Why would a demon care about what a human wanted?” he asks gently.

“Because you’re mine,” Ryan says. “You’re my human, and I won’t let anything change that. Not Todd. Not me. Not you.” They’re words that Ryan doesn’t know are true until he says them. It’s way past Shane being an essential and potentially irreplaceable part of BuzzFeed Unsolved. Shane’s soul is a prize that Ryan is unwilling to see further sullied, even with Shane himself having no more foreseeable use in Ryan’s life. Shane staying whole is a point of pride.

“I’m counting on that,” Shane says. There's something unsuitably aloof in his tone that sinks down into Ryan's bones. He pokes Ryan in the forehead. “How does this go?”

“You do the exiling chant so I can go finish my movie,” Ryan says. “How the hell did you even find the summoning ritual?”

“I dunno,” Shane says. “It’s not like an actual demon gave me access to a folder of rituals and sigils via his cell phone.” He does a reasonably decent impression of the airdrop sound.

Ryan rubs his face. “You stay the hell away from demonic activities.”

“I can’t do that,” Shane says.

“Why, because we’re friends?” Ryan sneers.

“Yes!” Shane pumps a fist and cheers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve made a breakthrough!”

“Let me put this in terms you can understand. I’m Glenn Close Cruela de Vil. You’re a dog. Notably, we are not friends. Normally we, the da Vil family, turn your lot into coats, but because you’re my weird fucking hairless dog, I’m going to not do that. And I take offense at the suggestion that you be turned into a coat.”

“Oh, I get it,” Shane says. “I’m Wilbur and you’re Fern. Other pigs get slaughtered, but you’re mostly concerned with me.”

“Uh, no,” Ryan says. “Fern doesn’t go around slaughtering other pigs.”

“Uh, yes.” Shane steps closer to Ryan. “You said you don’t go around gathering souls.”

“And the moral of the story is that Wilbur should be bacon?” Ryan refuses to take a step backward.

“The moral of the story is it should be Fern who walks him in to the slaughterhouse when it’s time.”

“You’ve lost me with your convoluted metaphor.”

“Forget the metaphor then. Take my deal.”

“I don’t want your deal.”

“Then what, I should consult another demon?”

Betrayed rage sears through Ryan’s body. He’s never held this much concentrated anger before, and he feels like he is about to physically explode. That soul is his. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’d prefer not to,” Shane says quietly.

Ryan screams with frustration before settling on an inarguable point of contention in Shane’s madman scheme. “I don’t want my soul back!” 

Shane looks properly shaken by Ryan’s admission. “You _ want _to be a demon?”

Ryan’s never really spent time regretting becoming a demon, but he probably wouldn’t repeat his choices if he had a do-over. “It’s better than what I would be.”

“You don’t know that.”

Oh, but doesn’t he? He’s spent so much of the last ten years reviling humans and finding pride in what he is, in what he does. “Humans are so, so fragile,” Ryan says softly. “And I would be a broken version of that.”

“Ryan,” Shane says, and Ryan looks up. Shane looks upset, and it gives Ryan a little bit of the energy back he spent on holding all of that rage. “Let me do the deal with you.”

“Why do it at all?”

“Trust me.”

Ryan laughs mirthlessly. “I literally cannot.”

“Then be there for me, for this.” Shane hovers in front of Ryan, looking unsure about where to put his hands. He crosses his arms, sticks his hands in his pockets, and finally rests his hands on his hips.

“How are you this big of an idiot?” It’s so flattering that even after everything, Shane is still willing to make crazy sacrifices for Ryan. Ryan has him so unbelievably whipped. But it’s too much.

It hurts. Ryan hurts all the way down to the figurative core of his being. The pride of Shane’s loyalty is warring with the pride over the state of Shane’s soul. He can feel the silvertongue unfurling and preparing to demolish Shane’s ambitions. He hates it, hates its source and the temptation to further mar Shane’s soul. But surely manipulation is better than soullessness.

“Ry,” Shane says. “My trade is this: my soul for your soul returned.” The bargain laid bare burns into Ryan’s ears. Ryan has to take a second to remember that it’s Shane making the deal. 

“You don’t know me,” Ryan hisses. This idiot still thinks they’re friends. Shane grabs him by the elbows. 

“My soul for your soul returned.”

Ryan feels so weak. He's adrift, rudderless, and desperate for Shane to shut up for once in his sacrilegious life. He’s not strong enough, not even strong enough for defiance, and knowing that makes him all the weaker. “Please.” 

“My soul for your soul returned.”

Shane is so fucking insolent. Ryan should put him in his place. The third repetition overwhelms his pride and his world feels both buoyant and heavy.

He considers.

Ryan won’t have to keep his soul when it’s returned to him. Shane already knows too much anyways. Ryan can just find another human to keep on hand if he even needs one.

“Okay,” Ryan agrees, mouth moving without intending to and Shane’s hands warm on his elbows. Immediately, the world begins to disappear. Ryan looks up at Shane just as Shane’s face fades away. Shane’s intense, pinched expression is burned into Ryan’s mind’s eye.

Reality rematerializes first as a couch--Ryan’s reclining--and then as the rest of Ryan’s living room. The only indicator that Ryan has left at all is the kernel wedged between two of his molars. Well, that, and the bleak void in his stomach that’s usually brimming with fulfillment. 

He’s failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO SHANE NOOOOOOOOOO!
> 
> If you're thinking, "Woah, Shane did a total 180 from last chapter!" you're not alone. Ryan is also confused as all get out.
> 
> A couple of quick reminders:  
\- Gremory ordered Ryan to accept contracts. As soon as Shane phrased the direct contract at the end of the chapter, Ryan was doomed to eventually accept it.  
\- Ryan has traces of Todd's vice and gift. When his prides (Shane's loyalty vs Shane's soul) were battling, powerlust affected Ryan's thinking. Once Shane explicitly offered the contract, Ryan was unable to use silvertongue (due to Gremory ordering Ryan to accept contracts). He's not even aware of it.
> 
> Well darn, Shane.


	16. Abandon Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am loving the discussion and theories going on in the comments section! Y'all rock.

It takes hours to recover. Ryan has to build himself back up piece by piece. It’s hard because almost everything that Ryan has pride in has all gone to shit: BuzzFeed Unsolved, preserving Shane’s soul against Shane’s stupidity...he can even feel the tight skin of emerging stress-acne pulling at his forehead and chin. And won’t that be fucking dandy for when Ryan goes interviewing for a new job, showing up looking like an absolute mess of a teenager. 

There’s only one way to make it through the funk, and that’s to cut ties and move on. He’ll find new things to be proud of. He’s resilient.

If he’s so fucking resilient, why is he curled up so feebly on the couch?

He did not survive Todd fucking Turpitude to be done in by Shane freaking Madej. 

Fuck Shane. Seriously, what the hell was he playing at? If Ryan weren’t running on empty, he’d call up Shane to give him a lengthy piece of his mind.

As it is, it’s Shane that halts Ryan’s downspiral. 

_ So you have my soul now? _

Ryan doesn’t dignify the text with a response. Shane deserves to squirm with his message’s read notification while Ryan muscles his way through the demon approximation of a mental breakdown.

The facts are these: Ryan does not have Shane’s soul. Ryan does not have his own soul. Best of all, there is zero temporal mandate necessitating  _ when _ Ryan takes Shane’s soul or retrieves his from Gremory. The realization starts as a glint of hope and promptly mutates into a nuclear explosion of optimism.

Demons push the timetable in contracts. They’re usually drooling over the promised soul and fulfilling the contract as soon as is feasible. But there is absolutely nothing that Shane can do to hurry Ryan. He can’t force Ryan to take his soul now. He can’t force Ryan to talk to Gremory. Ryan’s in the clear.

He’s not so stupid as to think that the contract will be avoided. Eventually, doubtlessly, Gremory will fuss at him about contracts and Ryan will be forced to spill his guts, and then it’ll be an unavoidable trip over to Shane’s to snag his soul and Ryan will have to figure out what to do with the rotten remains of his own soul. But by then, Ryan can have built the next thing. Ryan can have new things to be proud of, things that aren’t crumbling down to bits and pieces. 

The pride loop begins. Ryan’s pleased with his contract delay, and each reiteration of future possibilities further fuels that pride.

Ryan’s a fucking champion. Shane is a classic doody-head. 

Ryan’s coming out on top, baby! 

Ryan pops off the couch and relocates to the kitchen to fry himself a couple of eggs for dinner. He absent-mindedly glances at his phone, which has been vibrating for the last ten minutes with nonstop messages from Shane.

_ Did I do the summoning right? _

_ I followed the instructions exactly _

_ Did you get back okay? _

_ Do you have your soul yet? _

_ RYANNNNNNNNN _

_ ok I get it _

_ you’re mad _

_ makes sense _

_ but we gotta communicate on this _

_ Im coming over if you dont respond _

_ RYANNN _

_ 3 _

_ 2 _

_ 1.5 _

_ 1 _

_ seriously worried over here _

_ otw _

No fucking way. Ryan attempts to respond one-handedly, but instead ends up pouring the second egg directly onto the stovetop. He switches off the burner and focuses on texting back.

_ no _

He wants to play it cool and aloof because he doesn’t owe Shane an explanation, but the little sadistic part of his brain thinks it’s a great idea to go for a guilt trip. 

_ you’re the last person I want to see right now _

_ jfc  _

_ havent hurt me enough yet _

_ leave me the fuck alone _

It’s too many words, and Ryan can’t afford to fall back into that easy banter. He needs to make space here, distance himself enough from Shane that being proud of Shane and their shared successes pales in comparison of his new source of fulfillment.

_ roger that _

_ I was pushy today so Ill give you space tonight _

_ but we need to talk soon _

Ryan scowls and mashes back his response.

_ i dont have to do shit _

_ night Ryan _

Ryan doesn’t want to respond, but apparently his fingers don’t get the message because next moment he’s pressing send on another damn text.

_ i’m not talking to you _

He hates that he’s waiting on tenterhooks to see if Shane replies. When he does reply, Ryan rankles with irritation.

🤔

🙄 

😹

Ryan hastily answers with one of the emojis at the top of his recent tab before throwing his phone onto the couch cushion. He watches with grim apathy as his phone bounces off the cushion and thuds against the carpet. He’s not going to respond to Shane any more. He can’t. It will destroy him if he doesn’t find something else to fixate on.

🖕

One thing at a time. Ryan grabs for the paper towels to mop up the raw egg from the burner and fetches a fresh egg. He’s careful this time, landing a clean crack against the edge of the counter and pouring the egg into the middle of the frying pan. Ryan tosses the shell into the bin and hovers over the pan.

It takes him a solid three minutes of poking at the eggs with a spatula to realize that he hasn’t turned the stovetop back on yet.

This is fine.

Ryan dials the knob up to medium heat.

Ryan knows he's not perfect. He knows he's going to make mistakes. He also knows that he's willing to do whatever it takes to recover from those mistakes. Certainty sinks into his bones, bequeathing him grit and steel and fire. 

He had put all of his eggs in one basket at BuzzFeed, with all of his successes and pride tied up with Shane. He won't be making that mistake again. His fulfillment can't depend upon anything as fallible as a human being. And if Shane can't take a hint and keeps being a clingy fuck, Ryan will have to find something undeniably irredeemable to do.

Ryan's phone buzzes on the floor. Ryan ignores it in favor of flipping his eggs. A piece of the whites is stuck to the pan and rips as he flips the eggs; one of the yolks seeps out and begins to cook into a solid form. It doesn't matter. He'll consume it regardless. How it happens is inconsequential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, I hope this egg isn't a metaphor for something.
> 
> Writer says what?
> 
> In all seriousness, big thanks to everyone for reading and reacting to this story. It's really cool to see you thinking and predicting what's to come.


	17. Well Darn, That Can't Be Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mis-posted this chapter, so here it goes again!

“Ryan. Ryan. Ryyyyyyyyyan,” Gremory rumbles, and Ryan experiences the uncomfortable combination of fatigued resignation and burning hatred.

“You called?" Ryan says dryly. 

“I just heard something rather interesting.”

“Congratulations.”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Nope. Not even a little.”

“It’s about you.”

Ryan swallows past the lump developing in his throat. “Oh?” 

There’s honestly a good amount that Ryan doesn’t know about how Gremory’s connection works. Does he get little demon memo updates about Ryan’s life? Can he see the contract in Ryan? Is he spying on Ryan?

“Yeah,” Gremory says. Ryan flinches and firmly reminds himself that Gremory probably can’t read his mind. 

“Cool.” Ryan couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried. “Why am I--”

“You’re on the job market.”

Ryan gapes at Gremory. The fact that Ryan’s job hunting is leagues away from that itty bitty detail of the unfulfilled contract that Ryan would like to keep on the DL. It seems too easy, too lucky, for Ryan to feel genuine relief this early in the conversation. 

“I am,” Ryan agrees. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not part of the plan,” Gremory says. He temples his fingers and bestows Ryan with an unnaturally broad smile. “Did you get cold feet after Todd?”

“Cold feet?” Ryan fakes a scoff robotically. He feels numb. Who knows what the hell his face looks like right now. “Hot feet, more like it. I want more growth than BuzzFeed is giving me.” He warms into the lie. “I’ve refined and honed my show, grown my audience, and I’m not getting opportunities past video production. I’ve made a name for myself, and now I’m going to do something with it.”

“Pride,” Gremory muses, “sounds so exhausting.”

“To each their own,” Ryan says. His voice is ringing tinny in his ears. “That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

“To each their own.”

Ryan’s soul turns over in its grave and he twitches violently to look over his shoulder. Preta is lounging against the door frame with an unsettlingly barely-there smile. 

“Jesus,” Ryan gasps. “You been here all along? Cough or something, Jesus Christ!” He doesn’t know Preta at all; the only time they’ve interacted was that one time Preta brought Gremory that Bugle soul. Ryan doesn’t have a read on the guy, but it definitely doesn’t bode well that Preta’s sneaking around giving poor innocent demons such nasty shocks.

Preta completely ignores him. Or rather, he ignores his words. His eyes rake over Ryan in a distinctly hungry fashion that make goosebumps rise all the way up Ryan’s arms.

“Get the contract update.”

“I was getting to it,” Gremory says. Ryan’s head swivels back to look at Gremory. He is really hating his seat between the two of them, but he’s not sure how to reposition or where to reposition to. “Ryan Bergara, tell me the truth. How is your first contract coming along?”

“Not well,” Ryan says. He’s actively evading the shit out of it.

“No,” Preta says simultaneously. “Pin him. You afford him too much interpretation.”

Irritation washes over Ryan. He turns twists back around in his seat to glower at Preta. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Preta, yet again, doesn’t bother responding to Ryan. “Command him.”

“I am,” Gremory whines. “I have been.”

Ryan would’ve thought that he’d love to see Gremory so clearly uncomfortable, but instead he’s left with an uneasy sense of how little worth he has in the eyes of everyone present. He feels like a kid watching his parents fight, a foregone bystander bearing the tremendous weight of the interaction.

“Do I need to be here for this?” Ryan asks, gesturing between Gremory and Preta. “It sounds like you two have some stuff to hash out.”

“Yes,” Preta says pointedly, and hell no, Ryan takes it back, he preferred it when Preta was ignoring him. “You.”

Ryan wheezes out some anxious giggles. “Uh...what?”

“When you have a contract, tell me immediately,” Gremory says. 

“I do.” The words hurls themselves out of Ryan’s throat and he freezes, head turned halfway between Preta and Gremory. His brain is speeding up and slowing down all at once in a flailing attempt to recover. “I do promise to tell you when--”

“_ He has one _.”

Ryan shudders and refuses to look back at Preta’s expression. That short, hissed sentence freezes his blood. He stares, borderline gratefully, at Gremory’s slack-jawed face.

“Do you have a contract?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Yes.” The word tears itself out of Ryan’s throat, and he feels panic seeping in around the edges. He’s not ready for this. He needs more time. He needs to relocate his pride away from Shane, somewhere safe.

Gremory’s face becomes fucking radiant. Tension that Ryan hadn’t previously recognized bleeds out of his shoulders, and an unbearably smug expression stretches across his face like he’s the title character of a murder clown flick.

“Tell me what you need to fill your end of the contract.”

“My soul,” Ryan bites out.

Gremory barks out a disbelieving laugh. “What?”

Ryan sets his jaw. The bastard heard him the first time.

“Is that all?” Preta demands.

Ryan refuses to give Preta any indication that he’s been heard.

Gremory abruptly stops laughing. “Answer him!”

“Yes,” Ryan spits through clenched teeth. He feels a look pass over his head between Gremory and Preta, and in his peripheral, he sees Gremory give Preta a pleased little nod.

“Of all the useless things to sell a soul for,” Gremory drawls delightedly. “And I thought you threw yours away.” 

Ryan isn’t listening. He’s frantically trying to think of all the reasons that Shane is the absolute worst, all of the reasons that Ryan should feel absolutely no pride. Shane’s a bumbling idiot, a nosy buffoon, a horribly empathetic dork…

It’s all backfiring. Because in addition to being a mess of an old man stuck in an unwieldy millennial body, Shane is also Ryan’s. 

Ryan rummages through every unkind thought about Shane he can muster: the bird’s nest hair, the stupid, surprised look on his face whenever he gets a genuine laugh out of something unexpected, the intense fervor he gets about mundane topics…

It’s all Ryan’s. He can’t honestly and completely hate what’s his. It’s too counterintuitive. 

It’s going to literally be the death of him.

“Pay attention,” Gremory says, and Ryan’s eyes jerk to his looming creator. “I’m going to show you how to extract a soul so cleanly that--”

“I can’t,” Ryan protests. “I can’t until I have my soul.”

“You can,” Gremory says. “And that’s how you’ll be extracting it. In its indigestible form. Then we’ll square you away with your soul, and--”

Preta makes a little groan of satisfaction, and Ryan can’t help but to sneak a peek back at him. The fucker is blatantly drooling, still with that creepy-ass smile. 

A few pieces click into place. “He’s getting the soul?” Ryan demands indignantly.

“It’s long overdue,” Preta slobbers. Even from halfway across the room, Ryan can clearly make out his freakishly dilated pupils. 

“Definitely longer than expected,” Gremory agrees politely. “Bergara can be a little unmanageable at times. But he came around, didn’t he?”

“Train him,” Preta commands, and Gremory bobs his head in agreement.

“Absolutely, of course, right away. And then he can head over for the pick-up, and we can reconvene for delivery.” 

“Today,” Preta growls.

“Yes, definitely,” Gremory agrees.

Preta nods and slopes out the door.

“What--” Ryan starts, but Gremory doesn’t let him finish.

“This is happening now. Come here, Bergara.”

Ryan’s feet obediently take him to Gremory.

“Is he your boss?” Ryan asks.

“Boss?” Gremory repeats amusedly. “No, not at all.”

“He-”

“He lent me a soul to train you with, to get you craving souls, and naturally that sort of favor doesn’t go unpaid.”

“But--”

“No questions. Stop asking.” Gremory presses one hand into the base of Ryan’s ribs. “You’ll start applying pressure here. Start physically, and slowly transition into the spectral as you come up.”

The unwelcome weight of Gremory’s fingers digging into Ryan’s embodiment in the spectral plane gives Ryan his first true sensation of feeling soulless. Like, Ryan has felt empty before, but this...this is a black hole punched into where Ryan should be.

“It’ll come right on out,” Gremory continues blaisely. “You won’t be able to make direct contact. You will report straight back here once you have the soul, at which point you will accept your soul--” he sneers at Ryan-- “and I will facilitate the rest.” His hands pivot to frame Ryan’s collarbone. “Any questions?”

“I’m not allowed to ask questions,” Ryan informs Gremory. 

“Good,” Gremory says. “Now be a good boy and hurry to fetch that soul. As soon as you’re in the physical world, go retrieve your contracted soul. In 3...2…”

Ryan rolls out of bed and barely catches himself on his feet as he moves to the hallway. He manages to grab a sweatshirt and sandals on his way to grab his car keys. Gremory’s compulsion drives him forward relentlessly, but Ryan would prefer not showing up shirtless and barefoot tonight.

Half an hour later, Ryan is bellowing, “What the everliving fuck is wrong with you!?” as he pounds on Shane’s apartment door. Honestly, he’s hitting the door hard enough that it’s entirely possible that Shane can’t hear his words. The possibility does nothing to pause his shouts or quieten his hand.

Ryan hopes against hope that Shane isn’t home, that his phone is off and Ryan won’t be able to track him down…

“Jesus, Ryan,” Shane says, opening the door a crack as he fumbles with the chain. “Do you know what time it is?”

Ryan goes very still and very silent.

Shane finally gets the door open.

Ryan pushes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demons operating on pride don’t say “I love you.” They say “I’m proud of you” which translates to, “It will destroy me when you royally eff everything up,” and I think that’s really beautiful.


	18. Put That Thing Back Where It Came From (Or So Help Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan fetches Shane's soul.

Apparently even Shane has enough sense to backpedal when a demon bursts through his front door. Ryan barely has enough time to slap a hand onto Shane’s chest when Shane jerks away and hightails it to the kitchen, long lines of pale legs flailing and barefoot feet slapping the linoleum with Ryan in hot pursuit. Shane’s got legs for days, and even with Ryan’s far superior cardio regime and the incessant, adamant drive of compulsion, Shane makes it into the kitchen first with a couple of feet to spare.

Shane dives into the shadows behind the counter and Ryan charges after him. He’s brought up short by thin air and looks down to make out the crisp lines of a sigil dried onto the floor. 

“You talking to other demons?” Ryan demands, gesturing to the sigil.

“One’s enough for me, thanks,” Shane pants. His pupils are blown black in the combination of dim lights and blatant alarm. “I was thinking about calling you in the kitchen earlier, but then I was like, ‘Oh wait, knives.’”

Ryan scoffs. “Demons don’t have telekinesis. Not in the physical plane.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too studied in demonology and I’ve seen enough movies to get a strong mental image of a chef’s knife embedded in my skull.”

“So instead, you called me on a cheap-ass, easy-escape, plastic-tablecloth sigil?”

“I mean, it worked, didn’t it?” Shane’s breathing isn’t slowing down. It’s like he’s trying to draw Ryan’s attention to his chest. “Why are you here, Ryan?” 

“Just wanted to talk,” Ryan says. It’s not what he wants to say. It’s also not what he doesn’t want to say. He can’t think beyond trying to get out of the sigil. He has to calm Shane down. “You said communication was important. So let’s slap some cheeks onto your sofa and talk this out.”

“We can talk right here,” Shane says. “You didn’t exactly come in like a sane person, so you can hang out right there for now.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re accusing me of not acting like a sane person? You got any mirrors in here, big guy? Cause you need to have a talk with yourself.”

Shane rolls his eyes and hefts his shorts up his waist. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

“Jesus, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Shane levels a condescending look at Ryan. He’s seen it aimed at others before, but he’s never been on the receiving end of it. Ryan hates it. “At three thirty, there is no right side of the bed.”

“Dude,” Ryan says. “Chill.”

“I don’t think I will, actually,” Shane says. He hops up onto the counter with his skinny little noodle legs dangling down over the cabinet doors. “You come barging into my apartment in the wee hours of the morning after running off with my soul and refusing to talk to me about it.”

“I don’t have your soul yet,” Ryan says. “Also, you literally told me to take your soul! You don’t get to be mad about that.”

“I’ll be mad about whatever the hell I want to be mad about,” Shane says fiercely. He visibly braces himself. “You don’t have my soul?”

“Not yet.” Ryan plops down on the floor. “I’m here for it now.”

“You’re such a fucking drama queen,” Shane says with unconcealed affection. “Why did you leave and refuse to talk to me if you were just going to be driving over here?”

“You made the sigil, you fucking idiot!” Ryan spits back. That warm tone is a thousand times more intolerable than Shane’s wary or angry tenor. “It sent me back as soon as the contract was made.”

“Uh,” Shane muses. “Ok. So I wasn’t specific enough making the sigil. But afterward--”

“No,” Ryan interrupts. “There’s no fucking way you’re just skipping over the part where you up and decided to sell your soul to a demon. What the hell?”

Shane straightens up on the counter and pushes his heels into the cabinet doors. “Mama Madej always says the only actions you can fully control are your own. And after everything that went down with...with Todd--” he says the name at a whisper, as though by just speaking the name, Todd will spring out of a cupboard-- “ I didn’t act like a friend.”

“Yeah, cause we’re not friends.”

“Think of me however you like,” Shane says with studied callousness. “I stopped being a friend to you because you weren’t what I thought you were. And that’s not the type of friend I aspire to be. So yeah, I need to call you on your shit more, but I’m not cutting you out. I, uh, really don’t like not being your friend.”

“So you know what’s best?” Ryan snarls. “You absolute idiot.”

Shane regards him placidly. “Why do you want my soul now?” he asks softly. “You didn’t want it before.”

“I have to take it now,” Ryan says. “Gremory ordered me.”

“So as soon as you get out of that sigil, you’re taking my soul?” Shane asks. He’s trying really hard to look casual, but he’s gripping his own arms awfully tight and Ryan can see the little marks of his fingernails digging into his biceps under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “That’s where we are.” He wants to tell Shane about the possibility of Shane going on the lam, but his mouth won’t form the words. He doesn’t think Shane would do it anyways. He’s got too much to lose, too much that Ryan already knows about between his family and friends and Sara… Ryan cocks his head. “Where’s Sara?”

Shane shakes his head and looks at the clock on the microwave. “She’s spending the night at a friend’s.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. “That’s good, then. That she’s not here for all this.”

Shane makes a broken sound that sounds vaguely like a laugh but looks more like a choked-back sob. “Yeah. It’s going really great.”

“So are we going to go ahead and do this?” Ryan asks, and Shane shrugs. Fuck, he’s such a moron. Why did Ryan have to fixate on the stupidest man on the west coast?

“I guess, might as well,” Shane says. He slides off the counter, and Ryan couldn’t look away from him if he wanted to. “No time like the present.”

He rubs the ball of his bare foot back and forth over the edge of the sigil, and Ryan flows forward the moment the circle is broken. He backs Shane into the fridge and blocks him in with his full body. Shane’s breath is the loudest sound in the room. Ryan presses his right hand into the base of his ribcage.

The urgency has left, only to be replaced with fastidious inevitability. It’s just a tense man and an anxious demon in a dark kitchen.

Ryan spreads his fingers, digging hard enough that he can feel the rounding of each rib that juts towards him with each of Shane’s labored breaths. His right hand heavily slides up Shane’s chest, and on the spiritual plane, he shoves through Shane’s chest and cups his mouth. Shane’s breath is wet in his palm.

Shane’s soul slides out like a fruit gusher: mild resistance at first, and then it just free flows out of his mouth. It’s so fucking pure and now only protected by the thin shell of Ryan not yet having upheld his part of the deal. 

“What’s my soul look like?” Shane asks nonchalantly as Ryan draws his left hand away. 

“Popcorn,” Ryan says distractly. Shane irreverently does a victory dance. Ryan ignores him. He can only feel a faint flicker of irritation that Shane so casually threw out his soul for an imaginary friendship. 

“So I’m basically popcorn personified,” Shane cheers, and Ryan turns his back so he doesn’t have to spend another draining moment looking at Shane’s stupid face.

“Bergara!” Gremory says gleefully. Ryan turns right back around, but Shane’s kitchen is long gone. “Wonderful job you did priming the soul. Looks positively delectable.”

Ryan glowers up at Gremory. He doesn’t need reminding that he wasted his time safeguarding an utter buffoon only to be an indiscriminate part of the hellish machinery intent on consuming souls.

“You’ll just need to take your soul back,” Gremory prompts cheerfully. He gestures to the corner of his desk.

Ryan stares glumly at the decayed soul on a bone platter. Its original form is entirely undivinable in its present state, fuzzy with mold and oozing rot. It stinks on the astral plane so strongly that Ryan feels light-headed.

“Go ahead,” Gremory cackles.

“I’d rather not,” Ryan says. It’s a token protest, but apparently Gremory has grown tired of waiting. Ryan is propelled forward and watches as his hand mechanically reaches forward and palms his soul. He’s so overwhelmed with disgust that he almost doesn’t notice that the layer around Shane’s soul promptly starts cracking and disintegrating.

“And now…” Gremory beams.

Ryan walks around Gremory’s desk. He doesn’t know if he’s compelled or doing it on his own. He thought he’d feel more, but at this point, he’s running completely on empty. Gremory grins lazily up at Ryan and reaches for Shane’s soul. 

At the last possible second, Ryan twists his wrist, and Gremory palms thin air.

“Let’s try this again,” Gremory says pleasantly, and Ryan knows, _ he knows _, that Gremory is about to force him to hand over Shane’s soul, that Preta is moments from reappearing and claiming Shane's soul, that this is the end.

Even diminished, or perhaps especially diminished, his pride can’t take it.

There is no goodness in Ryan, no love, and certainly not any self-preservation, when he crams his own vile, putrid soul into his mouth and swallows. Gremory cycles through momentary disgust and incredulous dismay before settling on absolute fury. He beckons frantically and uselessly at Ryan.

“Oops,” Ryan says once he’s bested his gag reflex. He releases Shane’s soul. It falls out of its crumbling casing and through the office floor, seeking its host in the physical world.

“BERGARA,” Gremory roars with full demonic octaves. “A THOUSAND CURSES ON YOU AND YOUR BRETHREN. THERE WILL BE NO PEACE ON EARTH FOR YOU—”

“I dunno,” Ryan says. His feet are sinking through the floor. His ability to exist on this plane is fast dwindling. “That sounds like a lot of work. You sure you’re up for it?”

There’s a brief moment of vertigo, and then Ryan is sprawled on Shane’s couch with Shane’s worried face hovering over him. Ryan can taste his own rotten nature, a sense of wrongness and sickness that imbues every part of his being. He gags.

“Ry..?” Shane asks.

Ryan slugs him. He really rolls his body into it, and next thing he knows, he’s straddling Shane on the floor, pinning all of Shane’s limbs down with all of his limbs. Shane stares back, wide-eyed but apparently not mad.

“I hate you,” Ryan spits, and Shane’s face shutters. 

“You have your soul back?” he asks. He’s looking at Ryan’s left ear.

“Yes,” Ryan groans. He loosens his grip on Shane, but Shane makes no move to get up.

Shane swallows, and Ryan stares mesmerized at the bob of his Adam’s apple. “And mine?”

Ryan can’t sense souls any longer, but he knows what happens to untethered souls. “Returned,” Ryan says shortly, and the relief that flickers in Shane’s eyes gives him an iota of a sense that Shane wasn’t as comfortable with parting with his soul as he had made it first seem.

“Good. That’s good. And, ah, I’m assuming—” how the fuck is Shane gesturing while being pinned?-- “that you’re not interested in being friends?”

Ryan stares at Shane, and now Shane is staring back. And while Shane’s face is deadpan, his eyes speak volumes. 

Shane is invested enough in their friendship that he would literally give up his soul for Ryan to have a chance to regain his, enough that he has no hard feelings for the shit Ryan did during his stint as a demon, enough that he’s letting human Ryan be different from demon Ryan.

It’s an awful lot of investment. 

Ryan, in his least ideal move to date (including that one time he sold his soul to a demon), lets gravity plummet him down to Shane’s chest, making Shane let out an oof of breath and giving him easy access to slot mouths together. Shane bucks his hips and flails hard. With Ryan unseated, Shane wiggles away, and Ryan touches his lips, staring after him with wide, horrified eyes.

“What the hell, buddy?” Shane says.

“Oh my fucking god,” Ryan says. “Shane…” He cuts himself off by sprinting out of Shane’s apartment at full speed. He hits the wall of the corridor hard and bounces off equally hard, not slowing down in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: Ryan, by consuming what's left of his soul, returned to human form. (Gremory never dreamed that Ryan would do such a thing because it is super gross, especially on a demonic level.) 
> 
> Now Ryan is human and Shane is human, and things are hella messy.


	19. Restart

Nothing makes any fucking sense.

Ryan doesn’t remember a point in time where he ever had this little influence over his feelings. He had thought that he had felt emotions as a demon when gaining fulfillment, but hoo boy, is this a whole different roller coaster at a whole different, big boy theme park. 

He’s mad. There’s always a part of Ryan that’s mad, but he’s quivering-with-rage levels of furious about Shane’s idiocy. He probably will never understand that Ryan didn’t give two shits about him as a person and the only reason he’s not hellbound is because of how much Ryan abhors Gremory.

And, yeah, there’s that familiar pride celebrating that he got one over Gremory. Fuck that guy.

He’s scared. He doesn’t know who he is, or what he is, or what will happen next. He doesn’t know how much of his life is his, or if any of it is. He doesn’t know what he has left with Shane after all of this, and despite being bygone events, the deal for Shane’s soul still makes him shudder.

He’s lonely. It’s a new feeling, and one that tears him apart with its viciousness. He has spent years expertly building a life with minimal interaction to mime a vibrant social life, and not only do his friends not know him, they don’t bother him. Only Shane ever bothered him, and Ryan just fucking assaulted him.

The worst of it is the horniness. Damn, Ryan’s horny. It’s like all the horniness he should’ve been experiencing in the last twelve years has only built up and is all raring to go, and, worse yet, there’s three years of touch memory between him and Shane. The touches had all been platonic, been received platonically, but now his body is shivering with the memory of how it feels to be plastered to Shane’s side, holding Shane’s hand, shoving Shane, pulling Shane, grabbing Shane, catching Shane, chasing Shane, Shane….

Ryan ruts hard into his mattress, eyes screwed up tight, wondering how much of the fantasy compilation in his mind is him and how much is the decay in his soul.

His miserable grinding session is jarringly interrupted by his phone buzzing, and Ryan instantly freezes as quickly as if someone had just walked in.

It’s Shane. It has to be Shane. Does he want it to be Shane? Oh, God, what if it’s Shane?

Ryan juts his hips hopefully a few times into the mattress, but the urgency of the movement is long lost. He can’t not think about what’s going to be on his phone when he checks, all of the ways Shane could be letting him down from a safe distance.

Ryan ponderously flops over in bed, one eye on his phone, as though it’s going to disappear on its own. He’s never fancied himself much of a coward, but right now he’s so damn paralyzed just thinking of what could be on that screen.

The phone buzzes again, and Ryan flinches violently. 

There’s no way it’s not Shane.

Ryan hauls himself upright. He’s got to man up and take responsibility for his actions. He owes Shane that much. Ryan peeks over at the still-glowing screen of his phone, and his chest gets weirdly tight.

It’s not Shane. The hair in the photo is too dark and well-kept, the skin not pale enough.

Ryan laughs. He feels clinically insane. How can he have been so dreading to hear from Shane only to feel so fucking gutted to see Curly’s face in the text bubble? It feels good to let the sounds rip through his throat, manic and ringing too loud in Ryan’s ears.

Once Ryan has quieted down to wet-eyed giggles, he picks up his phone and mindlessly scrolls through the recent messages.

> _ Hey boys i know bf doesn’t always want to cough up dinero for shoots so i got to thinking about where else we could get funding from. new line has a mexihorror movie that we could mention to get some of that sweet sweet ad rev _
> 
> _ damn that was too long for text lol anyways tell me your thoughts xx _

Ryan snorts. Curly talking about shooting an episode of BuzzFeed Unsolved with them feels like a throwback to an alternate timeline that he’s not fully aware he’s left. He’s automatically thumbing through Google to look up as much as he can about this movie with the scant information Curly has provided when his phone vibrates with an incoming text. Ryan feels cleaved by lightning as Shane’s name and message scroll across his phone screen with that dumb photo Ryan took of him in the middle of the night in a florescent Taco Bell booth.

_ How are we going to answer? _

“We?” Ryan mouths to his phone.  _ We  _ is a nice idea, but it seems ludicrous to the nth degree.  _ We  _ implies that they’re on the same side, that Ryan hasn’t cocked everything up to infinity and beyond, that he and Shane are still the Ghoulfriends, the Berry Boys, BuzzFeed’s dynamic duo. His fingers hover over the screen, but he doesn’t have a response. He hasn’t planned that far into the future.

As a demon, Ryan was fully intending to pursue other venues. But without that drive, without that sense of purpose, Ryan is floundering to think what comes next. Does he still leave BuzzFeed? Does he move to a different office? Ryan feels, rather mulishly, that if anyone had to move to a different office, it should be Shane. Shane, afterall, never misses an opportunity to badmouth LA and talks about moving away all the freaking time. 

Ryan doesn’t have to respond. He goes to minimize the text, but his stupid fat thumb makes the exact wrong contact with his fucking hypersensitive touchscreen, and in the next moment, he’s hearing the muffled chirp of the dialtone. Ryan panics and can’t move fast enough.

“H-” 

Ryan blindly mashes the end call button and throws his phone onto the bed as if it had just burned him. He’s panting hard, and god dammit if that’s not a boner that’s getting jazzed up about hearing Shane aspirating an “h.” Ryan stares at his traitorous phone and tries to find a complete thought past his brain’s screaming mantra of “shitting fuck fuck fucking shit!”

Ryan’s phone starts ringing. 

Ryan wants to cry. His bowels are so fucking tight. He might throw up.

His ringtone for Shane is the Ghostbusters theme song because hey, that’s legitimately funny, only it’s not as funny when Ryan is trembling and grimacing at his phone in debate of whether or not to get this all over with.

The phone finally stops ringing, and suddenly, Ryan can move again. He scoops up his phone and pulls back Shane’s text to reread it. Shane’s about to text him again. He knows it.

His wait is rudely interrupted by the disarmingly jaunty music of the Ghostbusters theme. Ryan’s thumb hovers indecisively over the “accept” button. Just before the voicemail can click on, Ryan taps it.

“Hey, Ryan,” Shane says, sounding entirely nonplussed. Ryan knows that Shane knows Ryan was just being a giant wuss about answering the phone, and he both dreads and wants Shane to call him out on it.

“No one calls anymore,” Ryan says. Even operating braindead, he knows he’s gotta tease Shane about something. “Get with the times.”

“Says the guy who called first,” Shane retorts, all easy and unbothered. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. About Curly’s idea--”

“What did you mean by we?” Ryan blurts.

In the ensuing silence, Ryan closes his eyes so he can better picture Shane’s face, brow raised, mouth quirked in unassuming bewilderment, maybe holding the phone a little away from his face so he can gesticulate his confusion to Sara or Obi or the refrigerator, whichever is closest. “You lost me, buddy.”

“You said ‘we’,” Ryan insists. “That’s...don’t you...aren’t you…?”

“I can’t read your mind,” Shane says sternly, and Ryan chokes on air. “Spit it out.”

Ryan knows that voice, and he knows the expression that goes with it: eyebrows furrowed with such intensity that an ignorant bystander might assume rage, chin a little elongated as he locks his jaw. Ryan shifts uncomfortably and  _ does not touch himself, thank you very much _ . “You have to hate me by now, right?”

“No,” Shane says instantly, and he’s still got that intensity radiating in his voice that makes Ryan feel like it’s possible that he’s speaking the truth. Like they can be fixed. “Fuck, Ryan, it’d be so much easier if I did.” 

Ryan scowls at the phone, and he’s feeling peevish enough about Shane’s addendum that he feels zero guilt when he readjusts himself. Damn, that feels good. Ryan’s hand automatically curls into a loose fist.

“But I have to take some responsibility. I know I pushed you into that deal, and I know you didn’t want your soul back. Thanks, by the way, for taking care of my soul.”

“Hmm,” Ryan says. He’s finding it inordinately hard to focus on the conversation while fumbling for that right balance of friction and dry slide and while fuzzily sinking into the timbre of Shane’s voice.

“I didn’t have a chance to say that last time, what with you running off and all.”

“Places to be,” Ryan says vaguely. When Shane doesn’t respond, he considerately tilts the mouthpieces away from his face and pauses his strokes to make sure he’s not being too loud.

Too loud while jacking off to his oblivious friend on the phone. God, Ryan’s a mess.

“See, this is the problem,” Shane barks, and Ryan yoinks his hand out of his pants.

“What?” he demands, a little too aggressively to pass as innocent.

“I’m determined not to be a shit friend,” Shane growls. “But I refuse to maintain things as they are. Cut it with the bullshit already.”

Bile burns a streak up the back of Ryan’s throat. He scrambles upright in bed. “What bullshit? What do you mean?”

“Right now, you’re not even listening. I’m done with always being the fix-it-up guy, the chill and always-on-your-side guy. You’re full of shit if you expect me to always be the guy checking in on you, doesn’t question when you jump--”

“I don’t! I don’t expect that!” Ryan squeaks.

“And I hate that I even have to say this stuff to you. Look, I know you’re frazzled by the whole post-demon life, but--”

“I’m sorry!” Ryan says. He can hear himself, pitchy and panicky, and he doesn’t care because nothing compares to Shane saying that he’s done with Ryan. “I won’t!… I’ll be!...I’ll do better.”

There’s a few beats of silence in which Ryan can feel his heartbeat throbbing through his whole body and he’s scared to breathe in case he misses Shane’s response.

When Shane finally speaks, he sounds so tired that Ryan has a fierce need to tuck him into bed and guard the door from any possible intrusions. “Just tell me what’s going on, man.”

Ryan starts breathing again, and he tilts his phone away from his mouth so Shane can’t hear his loud, lurching breaths. “I don’t know.”

“Try.” It’s the combination of fatigue and steel in Shane’s voice that breaks Ryan.

“I have a lot of feelings and no direction. No purpose. I don’t even know who I am. And I promise I’ll do better Shane, I will, because you’re important.” He chokes out a hysterical half-laugh, half-sob. “You’re right, I gotta do better.”

“Damn right.” Shane sighs. Ryan hears Shane gearing himself up to say more. He’s so fucking tuned in right now. “And I really didn’t want to hash all of this out over the phone, but literally the first non-demon thing you said to me was that you hate me.”

“Did I?” Ryan doesn’t remember. There’s exactly one specific detail he remembers from coming back to Shane’s apartment that night. 

“Yeah.” There’s another pause. “We don’t have to be friends.”

“Shane,” Ryan says. “I don’t think you have any idea of what you did or how awful everything could have gone with your deal. It was fucking stupid and I’m going to be mad about that forever. But believe you me when I say it literally nearly destroyed me to try to pass your soul over to Gremory.”

Shane huffs a disbelieving breath. “You said you ran on pride.”

“Yes, you fuckwad,” Ryan says. “And I was proud of you. Of us. You were integral to my success.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” Ryan repeats sarcastically. “Huh.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It makes all the fucking sense.”

“So you’re mad at me for the deal,” Shane says.

Ryan pulls his phone away from his face so he can have something to glare at. He’s been pretty clear on that. “Yes!” He says emphatically.

“You, ah,” Shane says, and the fucker is barely not laughing, but there’s something else in his voice that Ryan doesn’t recognize, “you often kiss the people you’re mad at?”

**ryanstevenbergara.exe has stopped working**

Ryan makes a whole lot of noises in the time it takes for his brain to reboot. He’s not fully aware of the sounds stuttering out, if they’re even actual words or, God willing, sentences. 

When Ryan does come back online, it’s to himself saying, “And it’s actually not gay unless you think it is gay, which means you’re the gay one! Like in France, they’re always kissing. It’s pretty ridiculous to think that all of France is gay. It’s statistically improbable. And here I was thinking that you’re a man of mathematical inclinations. Why else would you have that big old melon?” 

“You done?”

Ryan would very much like to be done. He clamps his mouth shut.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Shane says. “I’m gonna lay all my cards down. I don’t tend to get particularly close with people. You’re probably my best friend, and the majority of what we have is based off of you manipulating me to get whatever you needed. I want to keep being friends, but in order for that to happen, I need good, honest communication. I need you not jerking me around. So although I get that you’re freaking out, I need you to tell me exactly where we stand right now.”

“You don’t want that,” Ryan snorts, and then he freezes. That was more of a giveaway than he intended.

“That’s what I need,” Shane says. “You’re always joking, so I need to know what’s real.”

“You are the most important thing in my life, no competition” Ryan says. “And I don’t want to scare you off because I don’t have...I don’t know…”

“I knew you were a demon. I can’t imagine there’s much worse than th--”

“I like thinking about you,” Ryan says through gritted teeth. He hopes-prays-begs that Shane didn’t hear him, that Shane will just give up and drop it already. It’s hopeless though: Shane has the unforgiving tenacity of the naive and doesn’t know when to stop.

“You like thinking about me?” Shane repeats incredulously, and Ryan automatically shushes him.

“Shut up! I’m saying that in confidence!”

“What d--”

“I mean I like-like, like like-like-like, thinking about you,” Ryan says. He’s going to fucking cry if Shane makes him spell it out. 

“You saying like ten times in a row isn’t clarifying anything.”

“Shane.”

“Ryan.”

“Shane,” Ryan pleads. Shane doesn’t respond, and Ryan checks his phone to make sure Shane hasn’t hung up. “I don’t want to, and I’ll get over it, but I...I have...you pop my weasel.”

Shane is quiet for a long time. Ryan checks his phone again.

“Shane?”

“Tell me if I’m way off the mark. Are you saying I give you boners?”

Ryan splutters. “I’m trying not to be crude!”

“Oh, right,” Shane snorts. “‘Cause ‘pop my weasel’ is the height of class.”

Ryan wheezes. “I’m one classy motherfucker.”

Shane wheezes too. Then he hits Ryan with a, “So, what do you want to do?”

Ryan bites his lip, because damn does that sound an awful lot like an invitation. He aims for casual when he answers. “Mark you up. Lick your face. Take you apart and put you back together.”

“Uh,” Shane stutters, and Ryan smirks because he really likes how Shane sounds when he’s thrown off-kilter. “No, that, uh, that was my fault. I should’ve been more clear. I meant what do you want to do about this...weasel thing. You said you didn’t want it, said that you were going to get over it.”

“Oh.” The sound is punched out of Ryan. His mirth plummets to self-deprecating embarrassment. 

“Is it uncomfortable to hang out?” Shane bowls on. 

In one heart-shattering moment, Ryan sees how this plays out. Shane gives him space so that Ryan can process and move on from his lust, but in that very process, Shane makes a new best friend, one that’s not a little manipulative demon, and Shane much prefers his never-demon friend to the until-recently-a-demon-and-now-just-a-corrupted-human-soul option that Ryan can provide. Ryan’s a dime-a-dozen in LA; whatever Shane sees in him, he can find somewhere else, in a much less problematic person.

If Ryan were a good person, he would say yes. He’d give Shane that out.

Ryan’s not a good person. “Not at all!” Ryan says grandly. “Also, I’m not going to attack you any more. Physically, I mean.”

“Oh,” Shane retorts with faux gratitude. “Thanks for that! So kind.”

“Anything for you, buddy,” Ryan says. He swallows. He has to ask, “Is it going to be uncomfortable for you? When we hang out?”

“No!” Shane says quickly. 

“Good!” Ryan says, and he means it. “That’s good.”

This time, the silence between them doesn’t hurt. Ryan feels at complete peace.

“You said you weren’t sure what you wanted to do, or who you are. We could try some of the things you used to like to do and see what’s the same and what’s changed. Rediscover yourself and all that jazz.”

Is Ryan having a heart attack? He clutches and rubs at his chest. Damn, feelings pack a punch.

“All that jazz,” Ryan repeats. “Yeah, That’d be good.”

“Ok,” Shane says. “So, for the meanwhile, how about I tell Curly that we’ll look into it, but we’re not sure where the show is headed next.”

“That’s good,” Ryan says. Apparently he’s incapable of saying anything else. 

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll talk to you later--”

“Shane!” Ryan shouts. With Shane proposing how Ryan can find himself and respond to Curly, Ryan’s just had an epiphany. A beautiful, world-aligning epiphany. “It could be you!”

“What could be me?” Trepidation weighs heavy in Shane’s voice.

“My direction!” Ryan chirps. “My drive! You can tell me--”

“Absolutely not,” Shane cuts in. “I’m not your replacement demon drive. That’s not fair to ask of me, and it wouldn’t even work. That’s not how people work.”

“I don’t know how to work!” Ryan wails. “You do! I’ve spent the last decade and some change knowing what I need to do or where I need to go, and now I don’t have impulses, or when I do, I don’t have impulse control. You could be that guy!”

“I’ll tell you exactly why it won’t work,” Shane says.

“Why?” Ryan demands.

“You’re not listening. I already said no, and you’re still trying to sway me.”

“That’s not...I…” Ryan trails off. Every word he says is just further proving Shane’s point.

“It’s neat that you thought of me,” Shane says. “But I’m still working on developing my own boundaries with you. I can’t be trying to make goals and boundaries for you too. I’m not objective, even if you were listening.”

“I get it,” Ryan pouts. “You don’t have to explain it.” He flops over on his bed. “Go ahead and message Curly.”

“Yeah,” Shane says. “We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. 

“Take care, Ry,” Shane says. 

Ryan’s stomach flips. His insides feel so tender. “You too, big guy.”

He doesn’t hang up. After a few seconds, Shane ends the call, and Ryan just lays sprawled across his bed, staring at Shane’s stupid face on the end-of-call screen until his phone returns to the home screen.


	20. The Happiest Place on Earth

“Hang on,” Ryan says, and he cranes his neck to get a full visual of Shane’s backseat. “Where’s Sara?”

The way Shane white-knuckles the steering wheel says a lot more than his actual answer. “I dunno. She’s her own person. You gonna put your seatbelt on? You’ve got about five seconds before the car starts screaming at you.”

“You don’t know?” Ryan repeats. He can’t let it go; he’s been mentally preparing for handling protective girlfriend energy, resigning himself to taking pictures of Sara and Shane canoodling in the elaborate shrubberies, bracing himself for when they interlock fingers and smile at each other like Ryan’s not there, sitting solo on the two-seater rides. 

“Yeah, Ryan. I’m not Sara’s keeper.” Shane’s tone is a lot shorter than the topic calls for, and it should be a warning sign, but Ryan’s got too much momentum to stop. 

“She thinks we hooked up--” Ryan raises his voice to be heard over the car beeping its indignation that Ryan hasn’t fastened his seatbelt-- “and is down for us hanging out?” He fumbles the buckle in place because he’s not looking away from Shane’s poker face.

“Sara wasn’t at the movies. She wasn’t at the bar. Why is today any different?”

It’s true. Sara didn’t come on Thursday when they went to see a showing of  _ The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari  _ nor on Saturday when they went out to explore the new-and-unsatisfying fusion bar on 3rd. But those weren’t the types of outings that Sara joined them on. Disney’s different. Ryan’s never ever once gone to Disney with just Shane. 

“It’s Disney,” Ryan says bluntly. “You don’t even really like theme parks.”

“Yeah, but what I like is irrelevant. We’re trying to figure out what  _ you  _ like. Look, if you don’t want to go--”

“Shit,” Ryan says. “We gotta go! Start driving.” There’s an optimal method and schedule to get the most out of a day at Disney, and getting in late could mean that they can only get the optimal half-day schedule accomplished. Shane doesn’t have a season pass, so there’s no way Ryan’s settling for a half-day schedule. 

Shane splutters indignantly as he shifts into drive and pulls away from the curb.

It takes Ryan a moment to remember that Shane’s acting fishy about Sara. He watches Shane look intently at the road for a couple of blocks. He’s not even being creepy about it, just confirming the things he already knows about Shane: he’s a one-handed driver who makes two-handed turns, rarely looks away from the road, and hawk-eyes other drivers. Shane’s probably the only guy Ryan knows who doesn’t text and drive. 

“You still want to stop for snacks?” Shane asks. “I’ve got a box of granola bars in the backseat.”

“We gotta stop for superior snacks,” Ryan says automatically. “I’m not going to Disney to get repeatedly suckerpunched in the wallet.”

“Nah, we’ll save the punching for you,” Shane smirks, and Ryan shoves at his elbow. “Hey, watch it!”

“Or what?” Ryan says. “I’ll punch ya?” 

He gets it. Ryan has hit Shane an unfriendly amount of times. But that was old Ryan and freshly not-old Ryan, and Shane needs to make like Elsa and  _ let it go _ . Ryan refuses to be held hostage by his past. Hakuna matata and shit.

“Not while I’m driving,” Shane says with a fierce glower. Watching Shane try to be intimidating is half adorable and half-(although Ryan is loath to admit it) pants-shittingly terrifying. It’s just...it’s Shane. Fluffy, good-natured, amicable Shane, but also not-restricted-by-reason-and-possibly-pushed-to-his-limits Shane. Overall, it’s something that makes Ryan turn to the window so he can stop staring and hide the intrigued half-chub situation developing in his pants.

“How is Sara doing?” Ryan asks because he’s petty and he’s not about to admit to backing down to Shane. 

“She’s doing fine,” Shane says. He sucks his lip, and Ryan nearly breaks his own neck as he throws his body back to face Shane. Shane’s eyes are fixated unblinkingly on the road. Ryan’s played Shane for years, and he knows that Shane is moments away from breaking. He just needs a little silence to grease up the conversation. 

“We’re on a break,” Shane says. 

Ryan gapes at Shane. “Dude...what? When? How come...was it...was it me?”

“Of course it was you,” Shane says. “Things are just a little complicated at the moment, but it’ll all clear up. Sara knows me. She’ll understand. She’s just...it’s complicated.”

“She dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me.”

“She dumped you because of me, and now you’re hanging out with me. That’s not making things less complicated, Shane.”

“I know! But I’m not dumping our friendship because she’s questioning things.”

“You love her!”

“I know!”

Ryan wants to scream with frustration. “Then that comes first, you idiot! She makes you happy!”

“I know!” Shane deflates. He pulls into the Ralphs parking lot, but he’s still not looking at Ryan. “But her happiness is important too. I don’t know if I can make her happy.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ryan demands. How did his life ever come to the point where he is earnestly trying to mend his fixation’s relationship? “Sara is head over heels over the fucking moon about you.”

“Are we getting food?” Shane asks.

“I’m getting food,” Ryan says. “You’re keeping your lanky ass in the car and texting your girl to let her know that you are hopelessly in love with her and pining for your reunion.” He throws off the seatbelt and climbs out of the car, but not before wagging a finger in Shane’s face. “Shane, now. Take out your phone.”

Shane heaves a beleaguered sigh and does the awkward shuffle to get his phone out of his jeans. He waves it patronizingly at Ryan. “Happy?”

“No, I’m Ryan,” Ryan says. Shane winces at the Dad-tier joke. “Text her!”

“I will!” Shane huffs back. 

Ryan slams the car door shut and makes a big deal of peering back through the glass. Shane gives him a casual middle finger, but he is also hunching over his phone and thumbing to messages, so Ryan can let it pass.

Ryan’s building up questions in a major way. It takes a full three minutes to track down the pineapple-teriyaki pork jerky because he’s too preoccupied mulling over how long Sara and Shane have been “on a break.” Was it before Shane made his contract with Ryan? Maybe Shane made the contract from a place of desperation. How much had Shane told Sara anyways? Ryan reckons it might be better to just keep Sara in the dark about the whole Ryan-being-a-demon thing, especially now that Ryan’s not one.

What really doesn’t make any sense is the fact that Shane is being all standoffish with Sara. He’s sabotaging his love life for some undoubtedly quirky Midwestern sensibility, and Ryan’s pissed that he’s having to guide the repairs. It’s not fair. 

The self-checkout flashes red lights while assuring him that help is on the way, and Ryan stews in his irritation as the teen clerk makes her way over. By the time he’s rushing back to the car, he’s worked himself up to a simmering rage. He throws himself into the passenger seat and turns on Shane.

“Give me your phone.”

“What? No,” Shane says, visibly annoyed.

“Give me your fucking phone,” Ryan says, “so I can run damage control on your fucking relationship.”

“No,” Shane says. He slides his phone back into his jeans. “Seatbelt.”

“Phone.”

Shane thumps his head on the headrest. “Fuck.” He draws it out like he’s saying a whole sentence, not a one-syllable expletive. 

The seatbelt indicator starts beeping, and Ryan flails to fasten his seatbelt so it will shut the hell up. By the time he’s buckled in, he’s breathing in short, furious pants. “PHONE.”

“Stop it,” Shane says, and his tone is matching Ryan’s. “I hate this bit.”

“It’s not a bit!” Ryan explodes. “It’s you fucking things up with Sara because of trying to be a good person, and I’m not letting it happen.”

“It’s none of your business!”

“It is! You said you wanted to be friends, so it’s abso-fucking-lutely my business!”

“No, it’s not, because I’m telling you to drop it!”

Ryan narrows his eyes. Shane doesn’t get riled like this. It’s uncharacteristic, and it means something’s  _ wrong.  _ “Why!?”

“Because you’re part of it,” Shane says. He takes a steadying breath before shifting the car into reverse. “It’s good to hear you’re getting over your..weasel thing.”

Ryan gapes at him. “My  _ thing  _ and your girlfriend are two completely separate issues.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to fix me and Sara if you were--”

“Oh my God, Shane, I am!” Ryan kicks his feet onto the dashboard purely out of spite. Shane hates shoes on the dashboard. “I’m over here doing my damnedest to be your top notch bro and you’re being impossible!”

“ _ I’m _ being impossible?” Shane retorts incredulously. 

“Yes!” Ryan grumbles. He turns to look out the window. “You keep doing shit for me, and the first chance I get to help you, you’re blocking me out.”

“Well, news flash, buddy: I’m not interested in your help.”

“I wasn’t interested in your help.” Ryan sighs and twists back in his seat to fully face Shane. “This feels too one-way to be a friendship. Like, you’re acting all dependable and shit, but you won’t depend on me. It’s like we’re only good for superficial hangouts.”

“Give it time,” Shane says. He looks uncomfortable. “You’re still figuring out what you like, and I’m still figuring out...I’m trying to figure shit out too, you know.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “You just don’t have to do it alone.”

Shane’s eyes sweep to Ryan for half a millisecond before refocusing on the road. It’s a big move for Shane while driving. “Thanks. I appreciate where you’re coming from. I’d prefer the non-shouting, non-demanding version, but I get it.”

“I don’t understand,” Ryan says. “I thought you and Sara were gonna be forever. And I can’t let me be the misunderstanding--”

“It’s not just you.” Shane’s grip is tight on the steering wheel.

“Ohhhhh.” Ryan slides his feet off the dashboard. It’s different if Shane and Sara have other shit going on and Ryan was just the final straw. It means that he’ll have to change his approach. He’ll have to message Sara later, maybe schedule a coffee run where he can rant about how miserable and pining Shane has been for the past week.

“I would prefer talking about something else,” Shane says. “Could we--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ryan says. It helps that he has a plan of action in place. “I’m meeting up with Curly this week to talk about our possible crossover episode. Of course, we’re keeping you in the dark as much as possible, so you’re super not invited, but I’ll definitely let you know how it pans out.”

“You’re decided about staying on at BuzzFeed, then?”

“I might as well finish out my contract, maybe throw in an extra year. I gotta stay afloat while I’m going through my little renaissance.”

Shane nods. “Good. That makes a lot of sense. And speaking of, how’s that renaissance going?”

Ryan squirms in his seat. He’s been making little daily vlogs that are part-therapeutic, part-record keeping, and about the only thing that he’s nailed down for sure is that he’s a giant nerd. He’s not sure what he expected post-demon life, but all the trivia he studied to fit in with the basketball crowd, jive in the sneakerhead community, and hold his own in any modern film conversation is still floating around his brain and ready to be tapped into. So, yeah, Ryan is a total nerd. There’s that, and then there’s also the part where Ryanisprettygayanddefinitelyanexhibitionist. For obvious reasons, Ryan’s not about to bring up the new shit, no matter how much he wants to see Shane’s reaction.

“I’m a nerd,” Ryan whines. 

Shane guffaws. “Is that new?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“It’s not bad.”

“I never said it was bad. I’ve got nothing against nerds. I even like you sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re gonna go with the ‘my best friend is a nerd’ line?”

“My best friend  _ is  _ a nerd.”

“Well, same here.”

“Dick.”

“Nerd.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan huffs, but he’s not even trying to hide his smile. 

This is part of the problem. Banter comes so damn easy to them, like it’s their default programmed setting. And while it’s fun, it’s just not what Ryan wants with Shane. It’s like, yeah, Ryan could go for some skin-on-skin action, but he really wants is for their relationship to be more, to mean more. He wants Shane to stop keeping him distant and for them to talk openly about important shit. It’s just so easy to settle for friendship lite. 

As they get closer to Disney, they fall into a comfortable silence. Shane is humming along with his wack hipster CD and Ryan is keeping a careful eye on the turns. Yeah, he’s a backseat driver. He’s not gonna apologize for making sure Shane takes the best route. But Shane has apparently been lectured enough because he takes the Lincoln Road exit instead of the tourist-trap Disneyland Drive exit, and Ryan gets a little shiver of pride.

Shane makes the turn onto South Manchester, and something in the angle of the turn unlocks something in Ryan’s chest.

For the first time since regaining his soul, Ryan thinks of Helen.

It’s weird. It’s like thinking of a stranger that he knows well, a celebrity that he’s followed with tepid interest, a memory that he’s not sure is real. He remembers her checking her hair and their snack bags as they rolled down this street. She was a sucker for cute things. She’d wait until they passed these grungy businesses and snag a short video going into the parking garage to start her video story of the day because she liked the light flare. Helen knew angles, and she knew how to make Ryan look like prime boyfriend material when she made posts about them. At that time, that’s why Ryan was dating her. That’s why Ryan was upset about losing her.

Damn, he lost her and he never knew what he had. Helen had been objectively hot, objectively supportive and talented and brilliant, but with emotions filtering in, it’s…

It’s too much. Ryan manages to hold it together. He hands his pass to the parking attendant and maintains a straight face as he leads the way into the park while rambling about the schedule. His chest is tight and breathing hurts. Helen should have had the world, and instead she got Ryan treating her like a trophy and discarding her memory once she was mowed down. If Ryan hadn’t been in her life, she’d most likely be making a presence in the fashion scene. She stayed in LA for Ryan. She’d always dreamed of going to New York.

“Hey,” Shane says, and Ryan’s feeling too fragile for this conversation.

“Bathroom,” he mumbles, and he all but runs back from the turnstiles, back to the restrooms, where he can lock a flimsy door on reality and try not to cry in peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I miscalculated. I had planned for 20 chapters, but it's looking more like 24. Ooops.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------  
We're in a pandemic. Yikes. Please, please, please make sure that you're washing your hands and sanitizing things you touch regularly (phones, computers, etc). Stay safe! In the meantime, especially if you're looking at quarantine time, be intentional with your time by consuming art, learning or practicing a skill, and being self-aware. Mental health is important too!


	21. An Abundance of Coffees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update alert, woot, woot!
> 
> I freaking love you guys. The comment section has me either howling with laughter or cackling in anticipation of what the reactions will be for the next part. 
> 
> Take care, everybody! I'm feeling ambitious and attempting another update on Sunday, but I make no promises!

Ryan is the best friend ever. There’s no one that can come close to his level. He’s top-notch, first-class, highest-ranking #friend goals.

That’s why he’s going to respond to this borderline caustic text message.

Sara is not being #girlfriend goals. She’s being uncharacteristically uncool. Ryan frowns at her text, fully aware that time is of the essence if he’s to have any hope of her agreeing to meet up with him.

_ I don’t think I would like that _

Ryan knows he has about thirty seconds to respond before it gets weird. Thirty seconds to impress upon Sara exactly how serious he is and how desperate Shane needs her. It’s making it really hard not to overthink. 

Ryan’s totally overthinking. Shit, it’s really hard to do stuff when he actually cares about it. He’s gotta just do it.

“Just do it!” Ryan mutters to himself, doing a little arm gesture à la 2015 Shia Laboeuf. 

_ why _

It’s not compelling enough. Should Ryan type more? He doesn’t want to overplay the supportive friend card. But Sara’s typing now. Ryan stares at the dots under Sara’s name like they’re about to commit some heinous crime. 

_ Really, Ryan. Really? _

Crap, crap, crap. That’s a lot of correct capitalization and punctuation. That is seriously not good.

_ yes really. idk all that’s going on but i know shane is hurting _

_ and i don’t like that _

_ If i know you at all, you don’t like that either _

_ the fuck? _

_ you trying to guilt trip me? _

If Ryan had an audience, he would shove his phone under each member’s nose to point out the lowercase letters. That’s a step in the right direction!

_ idk is it working? _

_ no you puddinghead _

_ what’s your angle? _

_ shane _

_ shane being happy _

_ and what does that look like? _

Ryan thumbs instantly to Shane’s Instagram. There’s dozens of photos of Sara looking all cute and whimsical, and he has to scroll a little to get down to the one of Shane and Sara going down an escalator, Shane on the taller step so Sara looks even shorter. Shane is facing the camera, but he’s looking at Sara with the warmest, most affectionate smile while Sara is striking an explorer’s pose and pointing at something in the distance. 

It’s a cute picture. Ryan hates it. He hates looking at the evidence that Shane has found happiness with someone else. He hates how uncomplicated things are for them, that they just have human shit to worry about and not absent and/or corrupted soul issues. He hates that Sara knows Shane better than Ryan can ever hope to know him. 

_ something like this _

Ryan hesitates before sending the picture. It’s too strong of evidence for a case he doesn’t want to win, but he wants to want to win. God, he just wants Shane to have something good for all the shit he’s taken on by being friends with Ryan; why the hell does it feel like he’s attempting to gut himself?

Sara doesn’t respond immediately. Ryan leans his head against the fridge and stares down at that damn picture of Shane and Sara being a cute, perfect couple. Bitterness in turning his blood rancid. He feels the sweeping tide of rage swelling up at how blatantly unfair everything is. What does Ryan get? After all the shit he’s been through, what does Ryan get?

“Shane’s my friend,” Ryan reminds himself. He slaps himself in the chest. “I get Shane’s friendship. And that’s enough.”

At least, it would be if Ryan could stop being a morose bitch about it.

Sara’s response pops up over the top of Shane’s forehead, and Ryan scoffs.

_ you’re paying _

“No shit,” Ryan grumbles.

_ ok yeah sure _

_ when? _

By the time Sara’s agreed to meet after work, Ryan is running way behind schedule. There’s no hope of making it to the office in time, and especially because it’s his first day back to work after a week off, it’s not likely to go unnoticed. He flies out the door in a slightly-less-than-clean shirt and a pair of too-professional pants because he hasn’t done a drop of laundry in nearly three weeks. He feels gross and the pants have creases across the thighs, but hey, at least the outside matches the inside. Hoo-fucking-rah. 

Ryan grimaces a, “Good morning,” to everyone on the way into the office, and between his demeanor and expression, no one attempts to start a conversation. Steven, god bless him, pivots hard to the kitchen, and Ryan knows that he’s going to have the best-possible cup of BuzzFeed coffee within the next ten minutes. It makes it a lot more bearable to slump down at his desk.

“Morning to you too,” Shane says. Ryan can hear him turning his chair to face his back. He mumbles a wordless salutation, and then there’s a blanket of silence. Ryan knows that if he looks over his shoulder, he’s going to see Shane’s giant face staring, and he’s not ready for that sight.

Saturday was...it was good. Ryan had to go into borderline histrionics to get Shane to get off his back about running crying to the bathroom. Ryan doesn’t doubt that Shane would be supportive and understanding, but Shane has already been supportive and understanding about Ryan grieving Helen’s death and Ryan doesn’t feel like giving Shane a repeat performance, especially now that it’s authentic. Besides, Shane’s holding shit back from Ryan about girlfriend stuff; Ryan is super entitled to do the same. It’s not Ryan’s fault that Shane has a better game face. Ryan can’t help being expressive.

After Ryan started turning it into a scene, Shane had backed down and let Ryan lead him through Disneyland. The first half hour had that weird standoff energy, but that dissipated pretty soon after they got to Toontown and fell into a fairly intense debate about Goofy, Pluto, and the ethics of pet dogs. Ryan’s not dumb; he knew that Shane didn’t forget about the whole crying-in-bathroom debacle. That’s why he will **not** be looking at Shane right now.

“Good morning, Ryan!” Shane says with unnecessary gusto.

“Hey,” Ryan says. He even does a little head nod in Shane’s direction.

“You oversleep today?”

“Nope,” Ryan tells his monitor. It’s taking forever to turn on. 

“You lost track of time?”

“Nope.”

Shane pulls out his dweeb voice. “You had a big breakfast?”

Shane’s nag mode is hitting Ryan in an exceptionally irritating way this morning. It probably has something to do with the fact that Ryan spent a good piece of his morning stressing over Shane’s love life. The asshole could do with nagging himself. “Shane. Shut up.”

“Hey, I covered your ass when Adam came through this morning. You can manage to play nice.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And I can’t believe I forgot.” He goes for the slow dramatic spin, but his chair spins too far and he has to twist back around. “I’ve got something for you.”

Shane cocks his head. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” Ryan pats down his pockets. “I just had it. Where did I put it? Oh, that’s right, here it is…” He brandishes a middle finger from his back pocket. 

“Ohhh,” Shane breaths. “Gotta be honest. I don’t love it. Do you accept refunds?”

“No,” Ryan says shortly. “Get outta here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane says. He heaves himself out of his seat and wanders away, scratching his chin. Ryan didn’t mean for him to literally get up and go away, but he’s not complaining about watching the long line of Shane’s body lurching down the hallway like a bad poem in motion. If Shane were a poem, Ryan reckons he’d probably be a limerick. 

Ryan’s computer is finally getting to the log in screen when Steven sets a coffee right next to Ryan’s monitor.

“Didn’t like seeing you running dry,” Steven says.

Ryan stares at the mug. It’s got a corgi chasing a low-flying UFO, and Ryan knows that Steven totally picked it out because of the whole Unsolved Supernatural stuff, and holy crap, Steven could be a friend.

“See you later,” Steven says with an aborted movement to pat Ryan’s shoulder.

“Thanks, man,” Ryan says. He’s run in some circles with Steven because, hey, it’s BuzzFeed, and also Steven is really into representation and makes extra effort to make sure everyone feels welcome, but their energies just don’t jive particularly well. Steven wasn’t particularly useful then. But if Ryan builds up his friend group, maybe he can break his Shane-centric mindset and let live. 

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Steve shrugs. He’s backing away awkwardly. “See you later. Oh, wait, I already said that.”

“Yeah, see you,” Ryan agrees.

There’s ample ground for relationship-building with Steven. Steven’s competitive, so Ryan could totally get him into some b-ball or working out thing. Steven’s not big on binging, so movie nights won’t be as successful as they would be with Shane, but Steven’s totally a foodie, and that’s something Ryan can get behind. Ryan eats plenty of food!

The coffee isn’t half bad. Steven’s added in copious cream, giving a little swirl on the top that probably looked really good when Steven poured it but is fast dissolving. It’s just really nice to know that people are willing to do nice shit for Ryan when he’s no longer trying to mastermind them. 

He’s merrily scorching his esophagus with coffee when Shane finally comes bumbling back into their section of the office. Ryan very pointedly avoids looking at him so Shane can know that he’s not open for conversation, and Shane must get the message because he sighs loudly before flopping back into his chair. 

There’s the crinkle of a paper bag and two soft thunks. Ryan peeks before he remembers that he’s trying to not interact with Shane.

Shane’s savagely biting into a slice of pumpkin bread like it has personally offended him while he wiggles the cursor to wake up his desktop. Next to his monitor are two Starbucks cups. Ryan’s brain runs a quick calculation of the time it takes to get to the nearest Starbucks, the fact that Shane has a strong preference for coffee cake, and Shane’s disgruntledness compared to when Ryan last saw him.

“Don’t you lose hipster cred when you shop big brands?” Ryan asks.

“I don’t know why you insist on propagating this myth that I’m a hipster,” Shane says. He’s still chewing, and Ryan should find it really gross to see partially chewed food glistening with saliva, but all he can think of is how mama birds feed their young by breaking down the food, and how would that pumpkin bread taste right now? Ryan can chow down some pumpkin bread. “I do what I want. I refuse to abide by your hipster expectations.”

“I’m just saying: it’s all up in your wheelhouse,” Ryan says. He chugs the last of his coffee. Shane watches with open distaste, glancing at his screen briefly before logging in blindly. Ryan smacks his lips as he finishes chugging because he’s naturally obnoxious. Can’t help it. Either that, or he just doesn’t want to. “Hey, big guy.”

“What?” It’s less of a question and more of a resigned groan.

“I’m all out of coffee. You wanna slide me one of your mainstream coffees?”

Shane gives him a look that Ryan is positive is definitely intended to be long-suffering, but falls a little short when his eyeroll ends with crinkly, smiley eyes. “You’re lucky I got two.”

“I feel lucky,” Ryan says. He makes sure to bump into Shane a little as he takes the cup. He’s crazy lucky to have Shane. He’s crazy lucky that Shane isn’t running for the hills. He needs to remind himself of that and not let himself get lost in the weeds. If he could stop taking things personally and getting defensive for one goddamn minute, Ryan could cut out some of this weird tension between them. 

Ryan breathes in the welcoming aroma of his cinnamon macchiato and tries not to feel too flattered that Shane knows his drink. He needs to be chilling out, not getting a different sort of worked up about Shane. 

“I know it’s a lot going on right now,” Shane says. “And I know you get yourself all excited over even the simplest little things."

“Your pep talk sucks,” Ryan informs him.

“It’s validating!”

“Well, _ I’m _ not feeling validated.”

“Oh, _ well _, you’d better hand me your ticket then, sir, and I’ll get that thing validated right away.” Shane leans back-- and shit, Ryan keeps forgetting how long he is, but now he can see all the way down the straight line of his torso down to those long legs and it’s that same heady feeling of being on top of a roller coaster’s first drop-- to hold out a hand to Ryan. Ryan slaps his hand away, but Shane doesn’t drop the bit. He mimes ticket punching and offers the imaginary ticket back to Ryan. “There you go, sir, totally valid.”

“You’re such a dork,” Ryan snorts, but he nonetheless accepts the ticket before turning back to his desk. 

“To have such an esteemed dork as yourself say that,” Shane says in a low, breathless voice. “Truly an honor.”

“Oh my god, shut up already,” Ryan laughs. 

The bitterness that has been building up since messaging Sara this morning has completely vanished. Ryan wiggles his buns to get a little more settled in his seat and fires up the ol’ video editor.

The good news is that Ryan had finished the rough edits of all of the episodes before taking off for the week. Now’s the fun part: he gets to nitpick the edits. Ryan’s got a great team, so it’s clean with fantastic audio blending. He’s really just doing artistic tweaking at this point. 

Ryan gets absorbed in his work. No, but like really. He’s hunched over his monitor goblin-style until he realizes that Shane is having a full-on conversation with Curly right over his head. 

“Curly!” Ryan says warmly, pulling his headphones down. “Good to see you, my guy!” As he straightens, he has to stretch to restore his back.. 

“Yeah. You done soon?”

“He can take a break now.” Shane blocks his mouth and stage whispers to Curly, “he’s a nonstop workaholic.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but then he has to do a doubletake when he sees the time. He’s been editing for a solid four and a half hours and been none the wiser. “Shane!”

“What!”

“I like editing!”

Shane makes shifty eyes between Ryan and Curly. He’s not subtle in reminding Ryan that there’s an audience. “That’s great! Good thing you’re an editor, eh?”

God, Ryan feels sweet with relief. He nods and smiles like an absolute simpleton. He halfheartedly tries to reign it in because Curly is doing the whole smile-to-mask-concern face. “It’s time for us to talk deets.”

“It is,” Curly says. “You still wanna grab lunch?”

“Yeah, totally, lunch is great!”

“Oh, good,” Curly says. “So you like lunch too?”

Shane barks a laugh and apparently has enough decency to give Ryan an apologetic look as he swivels back to his computer. 

“I do!” Ryan says affably. He’s gotten away with enough weird shit around Curly that he doesn’t mind the tease. “Let’s go.” He hesitates as he tucks his chair in. “Hey, Shane.”

“Hmm?” Shane turns, and Ryan wishes his hair was a little shorter or brushed to the side so Ryan could see the knobs of Shane’s spine moving under the bit of skin not covered by sweater.

“You want anything? I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing.” Shane shrugs. 

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

“Oh, I’ll surprise you alright,” Ryan says ominously. He adds his best malevolent eyebrow waggle, but Shane looks more endeared than intimidated. “Make sure you take a break too, big guy.”

“Yes, Shane,” Curly says decisively. “Bye, Shane.”

“I get it, I get it, we’re going.”

“See ya, Curly,” Shane says warmly. He meets Ryan’s eyes before turning back to his computer.

Ryan’s prepared for some mild ribbing about running late to their lunch meeting, but he’s not at all prepared for Curly to cross his arms in the elevator and fix Ryan with a surly glare.

“Woah. Are you beefing right now?”

“I dunno. Yeah,” Curly shrugs, which isn’t doing much to help his intimidation factor. “Shane’s a good guy, and you’re not gonna fuck him up.”

“What?”

“You and Shane.”

“What about us?”

“You’re gonna have to handle his heart gently. Not go all no-homo whenever it suits your narrative.”

“...what?”

“It’s like, you have my blessing to fuck him, but I will come after you if you fuck him up, yeah?”

“I’m not...why does everyone think we’re hooking up? ‘Cause we’re not.”

“Uh-huh,” Curly says. “Right. Look, you might have not been here last week, but Shane and Sara were, and they hashed all that shit out in the parking lot.”

“Ohhhh,” Ryan says with a dawning understanding. “Yeah, it’s a whole thing. Sara ships us, but we’re not--”

“Wait. You’re not sleeping together?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Still?” Curly shakes his head. “Oh my god.”

“It’s good of you to have Shane’s back,” Ryan says. Obviously, Ryan would prefer to be the guy to have Shane’s back, but it’s really nice to know that Shane’s got others looking out for him too. Shane definitely deserves it.

“Yesss, of course. Gotta look after our own.”

Ryan scoffs. Does he not count as part of the BuzzFeed family? Or maybe, and more probably, it’s the producer vs. editor vibe. Whatever, Ryan was totally a cool supervisor for Shane. It had more to do with Ryan hyperfixating on getting BuzzFeed Unsolved up and running than being chill, but hey, what more could a new editor ask for?

“So we good?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, totally,” Curly says. “I was just checking. I really thought, but, ah, I guess I was wrong?” He says it like he’s expecting Ryan to correct him. 

“So wrong,” Ryan says. He ignores the little tug in his gut that demands he pursue his options, interrogate Curly and take what everyone already thinks is taken. It's just really confusing, that’s all, that everyone thinks that they’re sleeping together. But he can last until this evening, when he meets up with Sara and gets the whole mess sorted out between her and Shane. He can do at least that much for Shane.


	22. Hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things that, in hindsight, Ryan should've noticed.

“You’re leaving.”

“What gave it away?” Ryan asks sarcastically. He pulls at his sleeves so his jacket will lay properly on his shoulders.

Shane ignores his sass. Ryan has been increasingly surly over the past couple of hours, and as a result, Shane has given him plenty of space. It’s not like Ryan’s trying to be all disagreeable, but he nonetheless feels guilty. Apparently, however, that guilt isn’t enough to stop Ryan from being a total ass five minutes later. What a useless emotion. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you leave on time,” Shane says. He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair to survey Ryan. Ryan kinda likes this angle, looking down on Shane. It’s rare to be the one hovering.

“Maybe I have stuff to do,” Ryan snarks.

“Oooh,” Shane mocks. “Got yourself a smokin' hot date?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ryan says. “I do.”

Shane’s elbow slips and he winces as the armrest digs into his ribs. “You’re going on a date? Right now?”

Ryan doesn’t know how to read Shane’s tone. All desire to rile Shane or be mysterious drains out of him, leaving him feeling spectacularly numb. “Yeah. Right now.” 

For a long moment, Shane just stares at him. Finally, he says,“Cool. Have a blast.”

Ryan grunts in agreement, takes one last look at Shane’s face, and bustles to the elevator before he can say anything he’ll regret. He feels raw like an open sore, and Shane is both the balm and the agitator. But he doesn’t want to ruin this, this moment where Ryan’s going in like a fucking hero to pave the way for Shane to return to his old life. 

The entire way to the coffeeshop, Ryan fantasizes rescheduling or canceling or Sara just not showing up. But he can’t get too far into any daydream without his brain throwing up a loop of Shane, tense and defeated in the driver’s seat, knocking his skull back into the headrest with a slow, plaintive, “Fuck.” 

Ryan takes a table, heart pounding like he’s just finished a set of box jumps, and stares blindly at the menu. Any moment now, Sara will walk through that door, and the anticipation is wrecking Ryan something awful. He twitches every time someone passes on the sidewalk. He wonders if this is how it feels to walk into an execution chamber. He orders a strawberry muffin. 

Sara pushes open the door of the coffeeshop and instantly sets her sights upon Ryan. Ryan attempts a wave, but he freezes up so much that he only really accomplishes an elaborate shrug.

“Ryan,” Sara says coolly. 

Ryan swallows. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

Sara narrows her eyes, and Ryan is uncomfortably aware that she’s analyzing him. He tries to straight-face it, but he can feel his jaw clenching too tight. “Why am I here, Ryan?”

“For Shane,” Ryan says. He has to say it again to remind himself. “For Shane.”

“Alright.” Sara tucks herself into a chair and pops a foot onto the edge of the seat so she can rest her chin on her knee. “And what does Shane need with me?”

“Look,” Ryan says. “It’s...I fucked up. I fucked up a lot, and in a lot of different ways, and I don’t want Shane paying the price for it.”

“Oh, you mean all the demon stuff?” Sara is staring at Ryan like she’s trying to read his mind. Knowing Sara, that’s a definite possibility. 

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says. “Shane told you?”

“Yeah.”

Something in Sara’s tone makes Ryan follow up with, “And you believed him?”

Sara rubs a finger back and forth over the outer seam of her pants. “It’s Shane.”

“Yeah, but it’s also, like, demons.”

“It’s a Schrodinger's belief. I don’t believe because I’d have to believe that you are--sorry, were--a demon. But I also believe because I know Shane. I don’t know.”

“I get that,” Ryan says. “It’s a lot.” 

The server brings over Ryan’s muffin, but he’s not feeling particularly hungry. He wordlessly offers it to Sara. 

“Thanks,” Sara says. She peels off a piece of muffin top, but she doesn’t eat it right away. “What trouble is Shane in now?”

“Heart trouble,” Ryan says. “Christ, uh, not like, cardiovascular, just like...he really, really misses you.”

“I bet he does,” Sara says darkly. She shoves the muffin in her mouth. 

“And you’re okay with that?!”

“Of course I’m not,” Sara snaps. She chokes on the muffin and gives it a look of total betrayal. Eyes watering, she coughs, “I miss him.”

“The fuck?” Ryan demands. “If you miss each other, why the hell aren’t you seeing each other?” Sara coughs again, and he does a quick jaunt to the counter for a cup of water. He sets it down a little too firmly, and some of the water sloshes out the side. Ryan drops back into his seat and leans over to Sara. “Why are you on a break?”

“Because I don’t want to stop loving him.” Sara rubs at her eyes. “Shit, I can’t hate him.”

“Yeah, you can’t,” Ryan says, but whereas Sara is saying it like a pledge, Ryan’s saying it like a fact. He’s dumbfounded. He has spent years actively searching for reasons to hate Shane, and the moment Ryan’s capable of feeling love, he’s got a literal boner for Shane Madej. It’s impossible to hate him.

“I just…” Sara draws a shuddering breath, and holy crap, she’s actually crying; Ryan thought it was just the whole asphyxiating-on-a-muffin, but shit, she’s definitely crying. And now Ryan looks like the asshole. “I really thought I could share, but damn it, it hurts!”

“What hurts?” Ryan asks urgently. 

“Us!” Sara wails. Ryan nudges the cup closer in hopes that she’ll take a sip and stop making a scene. “God, this was the last thing I wanted to do.”

The server returns with a slice of cake and a fork. She gives Ryan a dirty look as she plops the cake down in front of Sara and gives Sara a little pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m just here to help!” Ryan protests. He pouts at Sara. “Jesus, now they’re all gonna think I’m a terrible person.”

“You are a terrible person,” Sara informs him. “You just couldn’t leave it be.  _ Oh, I’m Ryan, and I investigate things and then talk about how they’ll never be solved _ .”

“Hey!”

“No, no, you’re right,” Sara mopes. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. Are we done here? I just want to go back to Kate’s and eat this cake without feeling judged. I’m not feeling nice.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Ryan rubs at his face. He doesn’t want to stretch this out, but he doesn’t know where to go from here. Fixing Sara and Shane’s relationship had seemed like the obvious right answer, but it seems a lot less obvious now. “I just don’t...how could you hate Shane?”

“It’s more resentment, I suppose,” Sara sniffs. “Which is totally unfair, I know. He was honest from the beginning.”

“Honest about what?”

“His giant crush on you. And at the time, it was--”

Ryan stops hearing. His ears are ringing. He’s aware that Sara’s still talking, but her mouth movements look abstract and alien. His mind is gnawing away at the meaning of the nuclear bomb that is the words “his giant crush on you.” Something powerful, overwhelming, and absolutely terrifying is building tumultuously in Ryan’s gut, contaminating his blood and his brain and growing more chaotic.

“Ryan?” Sara asks. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I just have a lot of feelings at the moment, and some of them are directed toward you.”

“Shane had a crush on me?”

Sara freezes mid-sentence and gapes at Ryan. Her foot drops to the floor. “You’re not serious.”

“Sara. Did Shane have a crush on me?”

“How the fuck didn’t you know?”

“Did he?!”

“Oh my god, Ryan, think about it, of course he fucking did!” 

And now Ryan’s thinking about it. He’s thinking about when Shane first came to BuzzFeed and Ryan, who himself had only been there a couple of months, had been his supervisor. He’s thinking about Shane bringing him gifts for obscure holidays and sometimes no reason at all, his tendency to blush and stammer, the way he always trailed Ryan around. At the time, Ryan had dismissed Shane as being a nervous kiss-ass Midwesterner bumbling around set. He had told Shane to cut it out and get his act together because Ryan wasn’t there to take care of him. And Shane had shaped up. He’d quickly developed confidence and stage presence, and Ryan had been pleased as pie that his raw managerial skills were so fine that he could turn the mess of a new kid into a BuzzFeed star. 

Ryan hasn’t once reflected since he started to know Shane that the guy is not a nervous man, never a sincere kiss-ass, and definitely not a follower. He’s composed and just the right side of fiery and casually anti-establishment the majority of the time. 

“He had a crush on me,” Ryan breathes. 

“I’m still stuck on the whole ‘how did you not know’ part,” Sara says. She’s brightening up considerably and starting on the cake with gusto. “He literally asked you out.”

“Did he?”

“He did!”

Ryan facepalms hard. “So, Sara. I was trying to get you two back together, but in light of this new information...I don’t want to?”

“What a clusterfuck,” Sara says emphatically. “I’ve been saying that literally since you first texted me.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew.”

Sara squints at Ryan. Whatever she’s looking for, she seems to find. “Oh my god. I called it! I fucking called it! I told Shane that you like him, but he was all like, ‘No, Ryan said he did not like me,’ so like a chump, I listened.”

“I literally told him I like him!” Ryan yells. He remembers who he’s talking to and sheepishly lowers his voice. “Uh, sorry about that.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Sara says. “Buy me some more food and then leave me to wallow in peace.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Ryan fumbles his wallet out of his pocket. “Anything you want.”

Sara looks out over the display of baked goods with misty eyes. “Not quite anything. But I think that brownie will do for now.”

Ryan offers her a hug, and Sara burrows completely into his shoulder.

“Fuck with him just a little bit,” she says. “But also, if you fuck with him, I’ll--”

“I know, I know,” Ryan says. He slaps a twenty on the counter. “Curly already gave me the rundown.”

“Good,” Sara says. She heaves a sigh. “Then go get him.”

She doesn’t have to say it twice. 


	23. Groceries in a Time Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's gunning for a super cinematic grand romantic gesture. He fails on every possible aspect.

Well, obviously now that Ryan’s thinking about it, he should have texted first. He stares at the empty expanse of desk bereft of Shane’s laptop and feels irrationally mad about Shane messing up his big cinematic moment by going home at a reasonable time. His little looping vision of jumping into Shane’s lap and hitting him with a giant smooch has completely disintegrated. It’s just that Shane usually stays super late with Ryan. However, apparently once Ryan’s off the clock, Shane doesn’t mind punctual skedaddling. 

Ryan fiddles with his phone. Now would be a good time to text Shane, but Ryan really just wants to show up and sweep him off his feet. Maybe literally? 

Oooooh. Ryan has a delicious little shiver at the idea. He puts his phone back into his pocket and heads back out to the parking lot. 

It’s a Monday night, so the probability that Shane is streaming a show and cuddling Obi is essentially 100%. Ryan is at a full run by the time he gets to his car. He’s gotta get to Shane before Shane gets completely covered in cat hair and becomes a walking allergy mine for Ryan. That’ll really ruin the mood.

LA traffic is being a total dick because of course Ryan is rushing across town in the densest part of rush hour. Ryan wants to scream at how everything is going. Ryan screams at how everything is going, but he rolls his windows up first because he’s a civilized rush hour denizen. 

It takes forty-fucking-two minutes to finally pull into the parking lot of Shane’s apartment, and by that time, the last of the elation has worn off. Ryan is grumpy, he’s stressed, and he’s had enough mulling time that he has doubt. Like, yeah, obviously Shane had a crush on him two years ago, but had Sara ever said anything about Shane still having a crush on him? Two years is plenty of time for a crush to get stale. And even if Shane did still have a candle burning for Ryan, that means that he has a crush on old Ryan. Ryan doesn’t have pride making him radiate confidence, doesn’t have that decisive drive, doesn’t have...shit, Ryan doesn’t know. He’s still figuring it out.

Ryan slaps his face a couple of times to build up his energy. 

“Okay, you can do this. You want to do this. It’s Shane.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s Shane. The stakes are so fucking high.

Ryan drums the wheel and considers driving home. He can plan out a strategy to make sure that...that what?

“Hell no,” Ryan scolds himself. “You didn’t drive all this way to chicken out.”

He throws the car door open and slams it shut just as forcefully. He’s gonna do this. If Shane didn’t abandon ship over Ryan being a literal demon, no way is he going to be run off by Ryan catching feelings for him. The idea is laughable. Ha. Ha. See, Ryan’s laughing. Ha!

So, yeah, maybe there is a frantic edge as Ryan surges up the stairs and knocks on Shane’s door before he can wimp out. It doesn’t matter. Ryan’s knocking regardless. 

After a minute, Ryan’s still knocking.

“Shane! Open up!” Ryan’s knocks are gradually dropping tempo. “Shane?” Ryan presses his ear against the door. It’s completely silent inside. 

Where the hell is he? Ryan slides down to the foot of the door and buries his hands into his hair. At this point, he’s just pissed at how difficult it is to track down Shane. All the doubts that plagued him in the car are incinerated in the colossal unfairness of how inconvenienced Ryan has been this evening. 

Obstinance is setting in fast. Shane has to come in (or out!) of his apartment eventually. He’s not going to leave Obi alone for long, especially now that Sara’s not living with him at the moment. And Ryan can outwait him. He’s got a jacket. He’ll order GrubHub if he gets hungry.

Ryan takes out his phone and starts scrolling through Instagram. Yeah, he could totally just text Shane to come open his door, but that somehow feels like losing. 

After twenty minutes, Ryan has shifted through countless different positions and has a severe case of numb butt. He’s done the awkward wave to three of Shane’s neighbors, and he’s half-expecting to have the cops called on him for loitering. He’s just moving to lean against the wall when he sees Shane’s Subaru rolling into the parking lot. Ryan jams his phone into his pocket and leans over the banister so he can watch Shane park. He’s got a lot of feelings battling for dominance, but it’s not until he sees Shane emerge from his car with a tote bag of groceries that one particular feeling stands out.

“You fucking nincompoop!” Ryan bellows. “How could you get groceries at a time like this?”

Shane looks around the parking lot before he catches sight of Ryan hanging over the railing outside his apartment.

“Oh, hey Ryan,” Shane says. “I’ll be up in a minute.” He moves quickly through the parking lot, and Ryan abandons his post by the railing to meet him at the top of the stairs. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been trying to find you for the last, like, oh, _ two hours_.”

“Huh. Sorry. I didn't see your message. I wasn’t ignoring ya, buddy.”

“I didn’t message you.”

Shane snorts and jimmies his key in the door. “Well, that would’ve helped, wouldn’t it’ve?” 

“Shut up.” Ryan grumbles. He pushes through behind Shane and yanks the key out of the door before slamming it shut behind him. 

“What’s up? What time is this that it’s a bad time for groceries?” Ryan catches a corner of Shane’s teasing smile as he hunches over and pulls the laces on his boots. Normally, Ryan would dive in and fully commit to the bit, but right now, he’s just tired of seeing what he wants to have.

“Why didn’t you tell me you liked me?”

Shane goes very, very still. When he finally straightens back up, he doesn’t make eye contact with Ryan. “It’s not relevant.”

“The fuck? It’s the most relevant. A person tells you that they like you and you’re not gonna tell--”

“No, Ryan,” Shane says firmly. He marches to the kitchen and Ryan trails behind him helplessly. “I’m not going to say shit because you didn’t say that you liked me, you said that you didn’t want to like me and you were going to get over it.” He slings a half gallon of rocky road into the freezer and a case of IPAs into the fridge. He grabs one of the beers before he shuts the door. “I got clarification. I made sure I understood. You were having a full-fledged identity crisis and you still knew that you weren't into this.” He blindly tosses the now-empty tote bag onto the counter and pops the cap off with the little magnetic bottle opener stuck to the fridge. Ryan remembers Shane snagging it in the Tower of London gift shop because he thought it was a riot. “So no, it’s not relevant. It just makes things more complicated.”

“Yeah, but I only said--” Ryan stops abruptly as Shane starts in on his beer. He knows what a grocery run involving solely ice cream and beer means. It means that Shane’s hurting. Shane’s hurting, and Ryan’s over here grilling him about stuff that Shane’s already been burned on before. Ryan is being a piece of shit.

Ryan doesn’t want to be a piece of shit. Not to Shane.

“So how did your date go?” Shane asks pointedly. He spills some beer on his shirt on his next swig and roughly paws the drops off his chin. “I’m assuming poorly because…” He gestures to himself and his apartment.

“There wasn't a date. I went to talk to Sara about you two getting back together.”

“Ryan!”

“I know! I know. You didn’t want me getting wrapped up in that.”

Shane rolls the neck of his bottle into the crook of his thumb. When he talks, it's to the bottle. “I do love her.”

“I know.”

“She’s hurting right now.”

Ryan steps a little closer. “I know.”

“I never wanted to hurt her.”

Shane finally looks up, finally makes eye contact with Ryan, and Ryan swallows hard. “She knows that.”

“Doesn’t make a fucking difference,” Shane huffs. He looks away from Ryan. “I hurt her.”

Ryan feels frozen. He coughs uncomfortably to clear his throat. “She doesn’t blame you.”

“That doesn’t make it better, Ryan!” Shane snaps. "I still hurt her!"

Ryan doesn’t know what makes it better. As long as he’s known Shane, the guy has always been tall, but this is the first time that height feels truly distant. Ryan just feels so useless watching Shane hurt. “Tell me what to do. Please. Shane, tell me what to do.”

Shane sets his bottle on the counter. “I could...I could really go for a hug about now.”

“Okay then,” Ryan says. He throws his arms wide and lunges to grab as much of Shane as possible. He bangs his forehead on Shane’s chin.

“Jesus!” Shane exhales, and then he sorta deflates onto Ryan until Ryan’s bearing a decent amount of Shane’s weight. Shane tentatively clasps his arms behind Ryan’s back and Ryan responds by holding him even tighter. “Thank you.”

Ryan’s not sure whether or not it’s just his imagination, but he thinks Shane’s words ruffle his hair. “Literally any time, Shane.”

Shane hums a nonresponse, and Ryan can feel it vibrating through his entire body. It’s a thrilling sensation, but one that doesn’t uproot the deep peace that Ryan feels in grounding Shane. 

“Can I tell you what we talked about?”

It takes Shane a while to respond. “I don’t know what I could say that would stop you.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Ryan loosens his grip on Shane’s ribs, but he doesn’t drop his arms. “She had me re-evaluate those first months with you. She told me I could do a teeny tiny bit of fucking around with you, but she’s coming after me if I get carried away. Curly also gave me the shovel talk, by the way.” 

Shane groans and pulls away. It takes Ryan a moment to gather enough willpower to open his arms enough for Shane to take a full step back. “So you got the blessing to come sort out your kinks? Because I like you, you thought you’d just pop by to get some, and then tada, you're done with--”

Aw, fuck no. Ryan's not listening to Shane spew that crap.

Shane stops pretty abruptly when Ryan grabs him around the waist and hoists him off the ground. The sound of his breath catching in his throat and huffing out in time with Ryan’s steps is fucking gorgeous. Ryan tries to set him on the couch, but it’s really hard to do with Shane being all wiggily. Shane ends up sprawled diagonally across the couch, leaving Ryan just a little space to perch by his feet. Ryan grabs his ankles.

“Shane, if I were in lust with you, would I be sneaking around trying to repair things between you and Sara?” 

Shane stares up at him, hair irreparably ruffled and eyes wide. Ryan raises Shane’s legs so he can get a bit more couch cushion real estate and pulls Shane’s socked feet into his lap.

“Shane, if I were in lust with you, would I have your Instagram memorized? You know you take too damn many weird-ass pics.”

Shane clambers to sit upright. His eyes are so bright. Ryan can’t look away. Shane’s mouth is slightly agape. He looks a little poleaxed. 

“If I were just in lust with you, would I be so fucking scared of messing things up with you that it took Sara literally telling me to make a move for me to say this?” He swallows hard and stares at Shane’s feet. “I honestly think we have something that could be amazing. And I don’t want the catch to be miscommunication. So level with me. Can we--”

“Jesus,” Shane says, and he pops up to yank Ryan down with a fistful of shirt. Ryan tumbles between his legs, and hell yeah, this is not a bad place to be. “You talk too much.” 

Ryan can feel Shane’s voice rumbling under his skin. He’s pretty sure his skin is pimply with goosebumps, but he’s not about to check. “Yeah?” He says, giving Shane a little challenging chin lift. “How about you do something about it?”

He’s totally asking for a kiss, but with Shane’s mouth so very far away-- Ryan’s face is hovering near Shane’s belly button--it’s more in jest than anything. So while he’s totally expecting Shane’s snort, he’s not at all anticipating Shane crunching up to curl fingers around Ryan’s biceps, holding himself up by pulling Ryan closer.

“Yeah,” Shane says. "How about it?" and then he ducks his head to press his lips into the corner of Ryan’s mouth. 

It’s not a conscious decision when Ryan scrambles up Shane’s torso, knocking him flat on the couch and chasing after his mouth. Shane flails to steady himself and Ryan pulls back, breathless, to make sure he’s okay. But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is, “Please.”

“Well, come on, then” Shane says impatiently, and Ryan can’t not obey. He gets the kissing part of it, but he’s also trying to reach all of Shane at once, and that part's not going so well. It's like stretching out for all corners on a king-sized bed. He doesn’t know whether to cradle Shane’s melon head or latch on to his little stick-man shoulders or wrap around his ribs. Shane has no such confusion. He’s got an arm wrapped around Ryan’s side, fingers dragging over his backbone, and the other arm slung up around Ryan’s shoulders and running back and forth between Ryan’s scalp and jaw. His legs are everywhere.

Ryan realizes his eyes are closed and hastily opens them. His lungs promptly stop working. 

Shane is so fucking beautiful up close. It makes Ryan feel all tender and gooey on the inside. Shane notices that Ryan’s gone all slack-jawed pretty quickly. His eyes flicker open, and Ryan stares back, inches away.

“That’s weird. Close your eyes,” Shane says. He’s leaning his head back from Ryan, but there’s not really anywhere for his head to go. He’s just giving himself a severe case of double chins. 

“You’re weird,” Ryan retorts. It'd be a lot more devastating of a comeback if he weren’t totally breathless. Shane rolls his eyes and uses his grip on Ryan’s hair to tuck Ryan’s head into his neck. So of course Ryan has to lick him. 

“Augh!” Shane says, but he doesn’t sound actually grossed out. “Alright, you need to move; you’re on my bladder.”

Ryan taps where Shane’s still holding his head, and Shane releases him. Ryan tries to wrangle his body upright, but it’s kinda impossible when he’s entrenched in Madej limbs. 

“No, wait,” Shane says. “I didn’t mean get off.”

“Okay, yeah, but I want you in my lap.” Ryan finally gets his ass planted in the far corner of the couch. 

Shane looks at him, unimpressed and still flat against the cushions. “How exactly do you see that working out?”

“Hey, I’m strong!” Ryan drums his lap. “Come on. Here, boy! Come get this prime lap space.”

“Oooooh, that’s a hard pass. You’re gonna have to work on your seduction technique.”

“Fuck you. I’ve got great seduction technique.”

“You’ve got--!” Shane repeats in laughing disbelief. “You called me a fucking nincompoop and yelled at me for getting groceries!”

“That’s only because--”

“Uh-huh, go on.”

“Shut up.”

“I will not,” Shane says. 

“Fine,” Ryan says. He tugs on Shane’s chinos. “Then come here.”

Shane rolls his eyes as he sets his feet down and pivots into Ryan’s lap. Ryan scoots him down a little bit so that Shane can fit his noodle body to rest against Ryan’s chest and the back of the couch.

“See,” Shane says smugly. “Told you. There’s no good angle to get smoochin’.”

“I got plenty of angles,” Ryan retorts, and he kisses the bit of neck at the edge of Shane’s collar to prove it. Shane’s head lolls back.

“_Ryan_.”

“Yeah, Shane?” Ryan asks innocently. 

The look Shane shoots him is equal parts horny and irritated, and Ryan is totally unprepared for how devastatingly hot the combination looks on Shane. He shifts his hips so that Shane is partially pinned between Ryan and the back of the couch. They’re still not face to face, but Ryan can see the flux of Shane’s expression from surprised to uncomfortable to resettled as clear as day.

Ryan can see Shane gearing for a bit, but it’s too serious, too real; Ryan’s not ready for a bit.

“Shane.”

“What?”

“You’re my--” Ryan doesn’t know how to end that sentence. He flails for the right word and is all but ready to give up when he sees Shane smirking. The jackass.

“Me too,” Shane says. He settles perpendicular to Ryan’s chest and tucks his feet under Ryan’s legs. “I’m all in.”

Ryan feels buoyant. He wraps his arms around Shane and leans against his chest. He feels Shane’s cheek land on top of his head. He feels at total peace.

That is, he feels at total peace until Obi starts yucking up a fucking furball in the hallway and Shane scrambles off to check on his son. But hell, for Shane, Ryan can definitely handle that, especially if it means Shane tracking down Ryan in the kitchen and backing him onto a counter with venturing hands and eyes crinkling with affection. Ryan can definitely handle that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts and runs away*  
Please be nice! I get so anxious about characters staying in character for scenes like these.


	24. Done Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Ryan thought his e-mail was bad news.

“Shit,” Ryan groans. He crumples onto his desk.

“Yeah?” Shane says conversationally. Ryan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck and groans some more. He’s not sure how to tell Shane that they will lose their livelihoods, that Shane will become a bum in more than just fashion sense, that Obi will grow up on the streets of LA and turn feral as a survival mechanism.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He hears Shane scooching over to read Ryan’s computer screen and stills, waiting for Shane’s reaction to the email. 

“I don’t get it. Are you out of haunted places?” Shane asks. “I can help do the research. Hell, the fans would find places for us in a heartbeat.”

“No, Shane,” Ryan says long-sufferingly. “We are not out of haunted places. We’re out of Unsolved: Supernatural.” Yeah, the viewers like the True Crime series, but Unsolved functions as a duology, and who knows what will happen if they lose a leg.

“What are you on about?”

“It’s not unsolved.” Ryan glares at Shane from under his arm. “You know. I know. We know.”

“And because we know, we can’t do the show?”

“Exactly.” Ryan wants to bury his face back into his arms, but he’s liking the view from under the fringe of his hair: Shane looks warm and affectionate and just a hint of amused. “I can’t ask you to lie on camera. You’re a terrible actor.”

“Fuck you,” Shane says seriously enough that Ryan knows he’s not-at-all serious. “I’m a fantastic actor.”

“There is zero chance that you can convincingly say that ghosts aren’t real.”

“Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Oh, shit. That was actually pretty convincing.”

“Of course it was convincing.” Shane crosses his arms and snuggles into his chair, and it’s a sure sign that he’s about to spew some spectacular bullshit. “They aren’t real. I have yet to see one drop of credible evidence indicating that ghosts are real, which I would say proves a lot, because I’ve actually been to Ghost Town.”

“That wasn’t Ghost Town.”

“Cause there were no ghosts, on account of them not being real?”

“Ghosts are spectral forms stuck on the physical plane. They weren’t there because they don’t exist on the spectral plane.”

“Of course they don’t exist on the spectral plane,” Shane agrees. “They don’t exist on any plane. It’s because they’re not real.”

“Oh. My. God.” Ryan rotates his chair so he can properly get into Shane’s face. “You gotta be shitting me. Do you really not believe in ghosts?”

“I’m just saying,” Shane says innocently, shrugging his shoulders cartoonishly. “I’m gonna need some credible evidence.”

Rylan splutters. “You--”

“What, you don’t think you can find any compelling evidence?” Shane beams.

“Oh, I’ll show you compelling evidence,” Ryan mutters darkly, turning back to his desk.

It’s so easy to get caught in the back-and-forth of it that Ryan doesn’t realize Shane’s strategy for a long minute. When he finally gets it, he has to sneak a peek back over at Shane. Shane’s got his cheek pillowed on his propped-up arm and is staring affectionately back. He doesn’t react to Ryan watching him watch Ryan.

Ryan’s heart is doing that thing where it’s alternating between beating like a rabbit or not bothering beating at all. Being at the center of Shane’s attention is overwhelming, especially with it being this overt. 

“Fuck you,” Ryan says because, yeah, okay, he’s still working on emotional maturity.

“Yeah, okay,” Shane says placidly, still looking at Ryan like he’s something neat. He blinks as if coming out of a stupor and turns back to his desk.

“Aren’t you scared?” Ryan asks because he can never leave anything alone.

“Of what?” Shane scoffs. His head is tilted towards Ryan, but his eyes are back on his screen.

“Ghosts. Demons. Whatever else is out there.”

“I’m not scared of what I don’t know,” Shane shrugs. “Besides--” he taps the bulge of his phone in his front pocket “--I’ve got enough info to be safe out there.”

Ryan rolls his eyes hard at that. Yeah, there are protective measures that they can take, but nonetheless,“You’re a lunatic.”

“Apparently you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Fuck, I am.” Ryan scratches at his jaw. “I really am.” He watches Shane working for a bit longer before he’s finally able to turn back to answer the e-mail about filming locations for the fall. He’s still working out how to sound all professional when saying that he’ll have the location draft turned in by tomorrow at the latest when he feels Shane stiffen. He’s not sure how he senses it; they’re not touching or even facing each other; he just knows.

“What?” he demands.

“The viewing algorithm indicates that your skillset would be better employed in other ventures,’” Shane reads in a dry voice. “‘At this time, we regret to inform you that Ruining History is not eligible for renewal.’” 

“The fuck?” Ryan says. He bounds over to Shane’s computer so he can read over his shoulder. The shock factor is fast fading, leaving him split squarely between rage and comfort. What would Shane do? Shit, what is Ryan supposed to do? “This is bullshit.”

“Yeah?” Shane says, and he sounds so blank. “You think?”

“I know,” Ryan says. “Ruining History’s a great show. Original content, informative but with that classic wacky Madej magic, fast developing a cult following... they can’t--”

“They did,” Shane shortly. “And all that work, every fucking thing I put into that show, it all belongs to BuzzFeed. I can’t take that shit anywhere else. They shot my show in the head.”

“We can fight for it--”

“No, Ryan, we can’t!” Shane shouts. He stands up quickly, knocking his chair back into Ryan with the force of the motion. He looks down apologetically at Ryan, but all he actually says is, “We can’t do shit, Ryan.”

“We’re in charge of BUN--”

“Yeah, and how’s that going to work out? You’ve got exactly one bargaining chip, and it’s not one you can play.” Shane shakes his head. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Can I come with?” As soon as Ryan says it, he lowkey regrets it. This thing between them, whatever it is, is new. Shane doesn’t need Ryan scampering around attempting to provide moral support when he’s grieving the loss of his biggest achievement to date.

“Can you keep quiet?” 

“I mean, I can try,” Ryan says honestly. 

“Can you keep up?”

Ryan glares. “Oh, I can so keep up.”

Despite the promise, Ryan ends up trailing Shane down the sidewalk at a respectful distance. After the third block, Shane stops walking and just stands in the middle of the sidewalk, shoulders drooping, looking completely lost. 

“I’m sorry, big guy,” Ryan says. He steps closer to Shane.

Shane heaves a laborious sigh. “Yeah. Me too.”

“They really did you dirty.” Now that he’s caught up with Shane, Ryan doesn’t have a planned move.

“I didn’t even get a chance to defend it. Never knew that it was in danger of not getting renewed.”

“Of course they wouldn’t give you a chance to defend it. They don’t have a good reason for cancelling. You’ve got plenty of views. They didn’t want you calling bullshit. Well, I say, we call the shit a shit!”

“How fresh. How innovative. Call the shit a shit. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Ryan snorfles a laugh and hurries to hide his face. It seems rude to laugh at a time like this.

“The thing is,” Shane says, “they did say it had to do with views.”

“Which is a load of-”

“Which probably means that my viewing audience is just feed-off from your viewing audience. I wasn’t bringing people into the brand. They like us--” he motions between himself and Ryan--”not necessarily my stuff.”

“You can’t know--”

“Oh, so you think the Feed just dropped a moderately successful show in a saturated market? You don’t think it’s more likely that they’d rather cram our faces in videos than give me room to research and produce quality content?”

Ryan’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. Is it better to argue or to agree, to defend or to comfort? “I like your stuff.”

Shane snorts. “Aw, yeah, baby, sweet talk me real good.” He starts walking again, and this time, Ryan keeps by his side.

“Fine then. See if I ever say anything nice to you again.”

“When do you ever say anything nice to me?”

“That’s what I’m saying! You gotta be receptive and grateful or it’s not happening again.”

“And that’s different how?”

“That’s it. You’ve done it. No more nice guy.” Ryan bumps his hand into Shane’s. He doesn’t know if he could say it’s intentional. The movement feels more instinctual. 

“Oh?” Shane turns his hand out and, honestly at this point, if Ryan doesn’t grab it, he’s a total dick.

Ryan grabs Shane’s hand. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” Shane says. He squeezes Ryan’s hand back. 

It’s not the most comfortable. Shane’s got to crook his elbow so that he’s not pulling on Ryan’s arm. They’re still figuring out how to fit together. 

“I don’t hate you,” Ryan clarifies after half a block of innocuous arm yanking. Shane probably knew he was joking, but he should make sure.

“Woah, Ryan. You sure know how to sweep a guy off his feet.”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan snaps automatically. Apparently he’s been a little too transparent about liking to manhandle and carry Shane. It doesn’t mean he’s open to getting teased about it. “I don’t-hate you.” He says don’t hate like it’s one word.

They pause on the street corner, and Ryan finally realizes that Shane’s been leading them to the park. “I care an awful lot about you too,” Shane says. He’s looking at Ryan with eyes so soft that Ryan could comfortably drown in them. “I just...what am I doing? Where am I supposed to go from here? Am I supposed to just keep making 5 to 10 minute trendy videos?”

“You’re supposed to do what you want.”

“I want Ruining History.”

“Then take it.”

“I can’t. It’s not mine. It’s BuzzFeed’s. They’re not about to let me run it off to some other company just because they’re not using it.”

“Then pull a Stephen Colbert. You remember how Comedy Central wouldn’t let him use his Colbert Report personna on the Late Show? And he just changed the character’s first name to get over the legalities? It could be Wrecking History. Unsanitizing History. Hell, whatever you want.” 

“And where would I take it?” Shane tugs on Ryan’s hand to start across the street. “I need you in it.”

“You’ll have me,” Ryan says. “Worry about the how of it later. What do you want with your show? Dream big. Full scale production, no limits.”

“No limits?”

“Yeah. Like, fuck it, you’re going to...what are you going to do?”

“Anthropomorphized musical numbers,” Shane says promptly.

“Ok, yeah, only I definitely said fuck it, not fuck me.”

“I’m pulling out my professor costume.”

“Now that, I can get behind.”

“Actual puppets, not little paper people on sticks!”

“Yeah,” Ryan says with considerably less enthusiasm.

“And of course, if you’ve got puppets, you gotta have a puppet theatre!”

“Do you, though?”

“Yeah, Ryan, you do,” Shane says firmly. “This beautiful face is gonna be out of sight for the whole production. It’s part of the magic of a puppet show.” Ryan vaguely remembers Shane making a stink about not having the Ryan-and-Shane clickbait superimposed over his Ruined History thumbnails. He hadn't yet been paying attention to Shane at the time. 

“So it’s gonna just be me getting schooled by your puppets?”

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be just you.” Shane turns to Ryan and snags his other hand. “You can have someone else there to complain to about how awesome my show is.”

“I’ll need it,” Ryan says. His throat feels very dry. It’s all still very novel, standing this close to Shane, looking him head-on, not trying to hide anything. “It’s gonna be pretty awesome.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Shane, it will be.”

Shane smiles gently, like he thinks Ryan is softpawing his ego and appreciates the effort but ultimately doesn’t believe. He drops one of Ryan’s hands and makes as if to move back to Ryan’s side. Ryan doesn’t afford him the opportunity. He grips both Shane’s hands firmly so Shane can’t escape what he’s going to say.

“You wanna know how I know how your show is going to be incredible?”

Ryan can count on one hand how many times he’s seen Shane look emotionally uncomfortable, and every single one of those times is because he felt he had acted uncouthly around a dignified gal or guy. He’s never seen Shane on the receiving end of a compliment that he wasn’t prepared to accept.

Shane’s all shifty-eyed and ruddy-faced. He’s trying to look down without looking at Ryan, which is damn impossible with Ryan staring up under his nose. Shane’s doing a laughing breath, already preparing to downplay whatever Ryan’s about to come up with, and Ryan doesn’t particularly want to give him that option.

“‘Cause you picked me at my worst,” Ryan says, and he can see Shane swallowing the wheeze, “and you stuck it through worse times before it got better. So I know that about you. You’ll do the time and effort it takes for something to get good.”

“That’s a little dif-”

“And I know because I picked you. Back then, I was running on pride, and I wanted whatever vehicle that could take me the furthest, and I knew it was you because the things you worked on worked out. So, that’s pretty objective, I’d say. It got so bad, I’d get so jealous of your successes, and I’d have to keep telling myself that because I picked you, your successes were my success too.” Shane studiously stares right over Ryan’s head, and Ryan yanks on his arms to get his attention. “You done dreaming?”

“Wha--?”

A confused Shane, Ryan is fast coming to realize, is dangerously adorable. “Your puppet history show. We should get to working on that, don’t you think?”

Shane, it turns out, can move particularly fast. He’s snogging the hell out of Ryan before Ryan fully registers the tug on his arms or Shane’s face swooping down. Before Ryan can properly retaliate, Shane is pulling away.

“Hey, no fair,” Ryan whines.

“You know what’s not fair? You trying to co-opt my show. Make your own show, Bergara!” 

“I’ve already got a show. Two shows!” As the words leave his mouth, Ryan realizes now might not be the best time to mention his double leg-up on Shane at work.

“Yeah, with BuzzFeed.” Shane makes it sound like a bad thing, which, to be fair, yeah, but Ryan’s not looking to be jumping ship. Unsolved has been good to him, and Ryan loves working on the show. Ryan decides not to debate it. It’s not exactly the most important thing at the moment.

He hasn’t really thought about making any new shows. The Unsolved series has kept him busy as it is. Despite that..“I’d like to go somewhere nice with you. No ghosts or murders or disappearances.”

“Ryan. Are you asking to take me on a date?”

“Huh. I guess I am.”

“Ok,” Shane says. “We can do that off camera too, you know.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“I’m just saying, I’m not big into-”

Ryan leaps up to throw a hand over Shane’s mouth. He’s substantially disarmed when Shane catches his hand and drops a kiss into the palm.

“In case it wasn’t clear,” Shane says, pressing another kiss to Ryan’s wrist, “my answer is yes.”

“Yes,” Ryan repeats, a little dazed.

“Yes,” Shane says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece has been so fun to write. A huge thanks to readers, kudosers, and especially commenters for encouragement and feedback throughout the story.


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